Copper Curl
by Everlasting Faerie Light
Summary: Germany is haunted with distant memories of a child with a copper curl. Not only does he struggle to remember his childhood, he also has to deal with his conflicted feelings for Italy. Shounen-ai/yaoi. GerIta with Germany as HRE theory plot.
1. Illusive Images

Germany's eye was twitching.

Not to mention that his temple was pulsing and his fists were clenching.

"…and then I'll make a pasta shaped like the Leaning Tower of Pisa! Wouldn't that be great? And then I could show it to big brother Spain and he could add the tomatoes to it to make it better…"

On and on and on.

_Veh _this and _veh _that and _pasta _up and _pizza _down.

Germany can only handle Italy for so long before completely snapping and capitulating into a huge shouting spree that involves explicit curse words that combine a strange dialect of _Deutsche_ and some other made up language.

"I'll also add a pizza! There's nothing better than pizza and pasta. Even the sausages from your place cannot compete with it! Don't hit me for saying that, because the sausages do taste good. Far better than the English food…"

Germany started to breathe in and out, determined not to look in the face of the irritating nation. He could not stand to look at that huge dazzling smile, stupid red-brown hair with that annoying curl, and those eyes that always seem to be squinted with joy.

"I have an idea! I'll make pasta tonight for dinner! We'll have it at your place so I won't have to leave for a very long time! Isn't that great? I'll add a tomato sauce and a good cheese. Maybe I can even make a pizza!" Italy ranted, completely oblivious to the growing climatic thunderstorm that surrounded the continuously irritated nation.

Germany ground his teeth together. Sometimes he wondered why he even allied with Italy in the first place. He's such an annoying and cowardly man. All he does is rant about pasta, call for help, and wave white flags in surrender.

He doesn't run laps during training when Germany tells him to; he is very high maintenance; and, his voice is the most irritating thing to ever grace this God-forsaken planet.

Well…maybe except for America.

But Germany always had this immediate impulse to worry when Italy didn't call or show up, to freak out when he got hurt, to always rescue him when he was in danger, to act as his protector.

Germany rubbed his temples and cringed as Italy kept ranting away.

"Italy," he said through clenched teeth, squeezing his eyes shut.

"I'll put cheeses and tomato sauce and basil and…"

"Italy…"

"And if you really want, I could put some wurst in yours…"

"ITALY!"

His thick grating voice smashed through the delicate air like a sludge hammer. Germany panted in and out, feeling the wave of constant annoyance and irritation stream out of his pores.

Finally. Some relief at least.

He allowed himself to look into the face of the Italian man. His eyes were still squinted, his long eyelashes very prominent. His cheeks were still glowing and he still had a damn smile on his face. And that long damn curl. Germany made a mental note to snip it off when Italy was asleep.

He inhaled deeply, holding his breath for a split second before exhaling with a loud puff.

"Veh…"

Italy's breathy and carefree voice swum around the room once again, immediately inflaming Germany's intolerance meter.

He let his head slam against the hard wooden table in front of him with a thick _thump_.

Why can't this irritating Italian understand that just because one is cute does not mean that one can be as annoying as possible?

Wait a minute. Did he just refer to Veneziano as…._cute? _

Germany cringed and mentally slapped himself. Of course he didn't! He doesn't refer to anything as _cute. _Grown men who use the word _cute _are perverts. Like that frog, France.

Plus, Italy is NOT cute! He may be an…uh…attractive man, but cute? No.

"Germany! Germany! Are you okay?" Italy's voice rang in his ears. Germany felt his shoulder being repeatedly shaken.

"I'm sorry if I annoyed you; I just wanted to tell you about my pasta plan and the tomatoes, and I even offered you sausages because I know how much you like them; just please don't get mad at me Germany, because you terrify me when you're mad, almost as scary as Russia. Oh no, I wasn't supposed to say that! Veh, don't hit me! You're my best friend and I would never compare you to Russia because he's scary and mean and frightening and you're not…"

There he goes again.

Cue the eye twitch and the temple pulsing.

"Italy!" Germany burst out, sitting up abruptly and spinning around to face Italy, causing the annoying man to jump up and yelp in surprise…

Only to trip on his own damn feet and fall smack into Germany.

Germany felt the painful collision of Italy's forehead against his. He felt the man's weight press against him swiftly, but Germany was too preoccupied with the damn throbbing pain in his head to push him off.

_Ouch._ Germany grimaced and clenched his teeth, determined not to express pain. No, instead, he'd express that pain with anger and robust behavior.

But before he could open his eyes and start criticizing the Italian about his carelessness and clumsiness, he heard an, "Owwwwww….owww! Germany! You're head is really hard."

_Mein Gott! That man needs to watch what he says. That can be taken two ways!_

With that thought in mind, Germany slowly realized the position that the two of them were in. It was a rather…um…awkward position to say the least.

Italy's plastered against Germany's body, his arms hanging limply and his legs buckled at an awkward position, his torso in between the legs of the blonde nation. Germany also spluttered, realizing that his mouth was infested with reddish brown hair, for the top of Italy's head was against his mouth.

Italy lifted his head from Germany's chin with a small frown on his face as he rubbed his forehead.

For a man, he has very pretty eyes.

Suddenly, Germany's breath hitched. His thoughts seem to disconnect slightly and swirl in a strange illusive haze as he stared into the bright innocent face of his annoying friend.

A scene seemed to be unfolding before his eyes. A scene that tangled in and out of the Italian's face like mist.

The images seemed to assault Germany's eyes.

A dark cape. A broom. A tall man….Austria, maybe? A child. A small girl. A pretty girl. Tears. Nervousness. Sadness.

A kiss…

"_Ever since the 900's, I've always loved you…"_

And a long reddish brown curl.

"ACK! Get off of me!" Germany exclaimed suddenly, shoving the Italy off of him.

His heart was racing, beating violently against his chest. What in the world was _that? _Why had he suddenly thought of those images? Were they… could they possibly be memories?

Germany had no recollection of his childhood whatsoever. For as long as he remembered, big brother Prussia always took care of him… but he didn't know where he came from.

What would Austria be doing in his memories?

Who was that girl?

She looked sort of like…almost exactly like…

Germany glanced at Italy, who was sitting on the floor, rubbing his forehead. ("Veh…")

He abruptly stood up, rather clumsily.

"Uh…um…I'm eh…going for a little valk, Italy. I-I'll be back soon," he stuttered, avoiding looking at Italy.

"Okay! But what am I supposed to do here alone?" Italy responded, still on the floor.

"Just make your pasta and pizza. Ve're having dinner here tonight. There's something I need to talk to you about."


	2. The Mysterious Childhood Friend

Germany tapped his foot nervously. Despite the generally comfortable atmosphere, his body felt outrageously stiff with unease. He gazed at his empty plate that was set neatly in front of him. His warped reflection glinted back at him from the shining surface of the white plate and he grimaced. Now that Germany thought more about it, he realized that he was rather touched that the usually irritating nation was going through all this trouble to make him dinner.

Even if it was the usual pasta.

Yet the usually comfortable and casual air was strangely sharp as Germany felt his breath growing shallower with each second. Why had that strange moment between he and Italy affected him so? For all he knew, his mind could've just synthesized those images.

But no. That wasn't it. Those images were lucid, yet illusive at the same time. They struck a strange chord of familiarity in Germany's mind. A sense of strange unnerving familiarity that could only be obtained through a sort of memory.

Did he just witness a memory from his forgotten childhood?

That would be…quite unusual.

No one seemed to know where Germany came from. Well, no one ever bothered to _tell _him who he was. He remembered asking his brother Prussia about his childhood a long time ago. Prussia just shrugged and said that he had found Germany wandering around the western border of what were once the old severed territories of Germany before its unification sometime after that perverted frog bit off more than he could chew back in the good old late 1700's. Or was it the 1800's? Oh, how the time flies.

Germany cursed himself. Why had he never bothered to ask Austria if he knew anything? He annexed the pompous aristocrat before without force. He had all the chance to at least mention it, didn't he? But then again, how would he have known that it would've been convenient to ask the insufferable piano playing _schwein _about his forgotten childhood?

And then there was the other part. That little girl. That sweet little girl whose face seemed so clear, yet so unclear at the same time. Germany grunted in frustration as the image of the little girl violated his mind. There was a kiss. He was absolutely sure of it. There was also a lot of sadness and nervousness. Frustration perhaps…

"_Ever since the 900's, I've always loved you…" _

Had he said those lines? Germany internally shuddered at the thought. That little girl must've really grasped onto his little heart with iron claws. Only a strong attachment would enable words of that nature to slip from his lips.

Also, there was that other unsettling thing.

He saw it. That copper curl.

A curl like that could only belong to an Italian.

Did Italy have another sibling besides that _dummkopf _Romano? Was there ever a sister that he never mentioned? If so, what happened to her?

Germany mentally reeled. He couldn't let his mind run off like that. He had to proceed with precaution. He really had nothing to work with here. He saw a few hazy images. Although very unsettling and significant images, they were just some hazy snapshots. He couldn't even be sure if any of this connects with him at all. Germany has always had this obsessive curiosity about his childhood. He would never admit to it.

He never did anything to enlighten himself. He always hid behind a mask of duty and indifference. He tried to tell himself that it doesn't matter where he came from. What matters was that he had strength as a nation.

So what if he was just blowing this all out of proportion? What if there was no significance whatsoever?

_Nein. _For some reason, Germany knew for sure that he had just experienced an attack of forgotten nostalgia.

And now he had to talk to Italy. Maybe the man knew something. Germany never talked to Italy about childhood before, but Italy has referenced his own young days, before.

With a small, but significant "Veh!" Germany knew that Italy had arrived.

He looked up to see the Italian man, a huge smile plastered on his bright face, and his hands occupied with a huge bowl of...pasta.

"It's done! I made pasta with tomatoes. I also put white cheeses on it. I also made potatoes for you, Germany, because I know you like them," Italy announced with a bright voice.

Germany was surprisingly touched by the Italian's consideration. Veneziano has always been rather considerate, but Germany never really let it affect him emotionally…with a few very _rare _acceptions. He won't deny that he has a special place for Italy somewhere deep in that heart of his.

"Um…Thank you, Italy," Germany responded stiffly, his foot still tapping. He kept his blue eyes on Italy, who set the bowl of pasta in the middle of the table. Germany opened his mouth to say something, but a small _ding _erupted from the other room.

"Veh! The potatoes are ready!" Italy announced with a bright jump before scampering back off into the kitchen. Germany faltered and sighed. He glanced at the pasta bowl. Hmm…it did look pretty good.

A few seconds later, Italy came back in with a tray full of what looked like sliced seasoned potatoes covered in cheese. The smell was rather delicious.

"There," Italy announced. "I'll go get the wine…and I'll get some of the beer for you, Germany. I know that you left some of it in my refrigerator last time you were here…"

Once Italy had managed to get the wine and the beer, he took his seat opposite Germany and started to scoop some pasta into his plate.

The two ate in silence for a few moments before Italy piped up, "I love making food. Especially pasta. It's absolutely delicious. Don't you think so, Germany?"

"Vh-Oh. Yeah," Germany spluttered. Despite his frenzied thoughts, the pasta was actually quite tasteful. The potatoes were also delicious as well. The Italian was quite the cook.

"I invited Japan over earlier today, but he said that he was tired! He keeps complaining about his legs hurting and how he old he is! I don't think he's that old. During training, he's kind of slow sometimes, but he still works hard. I don't know how you do it, Germany! You are always so fit and robust and strong!" Italy ranted with a big smile, his squinty eyes making Germany's lips to unconsciously turn up.

"Italy…uh…I need to talk to you about something," Germany started tentatively, setting his fork down.

"Veh, alright," Italy responded. "What do you want to talk to me about?"

Germany sighed slightly before responding, "I know this may seem a bit abnormal for me to ask, but uh…vhere did you grow up?"

Italy looked a bit taken aback at the question. But the smile was still plastered on his face. "Why do you ask, Germany?"

"It's…sort of complicated."

"Oh, okay!" Italy answered with a dazzling grin. "After Grandpa Rome fell, I was bullied by a lot of mean people. But after a while, I lived in Austria's house. I was there for a very long time."

Germany almost choked on his beer when Italy said _Austria's house. _

"Romano was raised by big brother Spain so I didn't see him very much," Italy continued, oblivious to Germany's mild panic attack. He took a drink from his wine glass. "Austria was very good to me. Not as good as you are to me, of course. He was a little bit mean to me sometimes and the food there was terrible, but it was okay. Austria played the piano very well and sometimes even let me sit with him on the bench. Hungary was always very nice to me as well."

So, Italy was raised by Austria? Why was this never mentioned before?

But…

"Eh, Italy…Did anyone else live in Austria's house vith you? Like…perhaps a little girl?" Germany questioned, taking a swig of his beer.

Italy frowned slightly. "Veh, no. There was no little girl that I know of. But there might've been. The house was very big. The only other child who lived with Mr. Austria that I know of is Hol-"

Italy suddenly froze. The smile slid off his face and his eyes widened. His face drained of all color and a surprisingly stricken expression inhabited his features.

This sent a feeling of unease through Germany. He has never seen Italy react this way to anything. He can't even really remember a time where the pasta-loving nation ever showed real pain or genuine seriousness.

"Are you okay, Italy?" Germany asked nervously.

Italy sighed and shook his head, a gloomy expression replacing the stricken one. "Yes, yes. I'm okay. Just…an old memory that's all."

"Who else lived with you?" Germany pressed, his curiosity reaching its climatic point. He was leaning forward, his hands placed on either side of the table.

Italy just shook his head quickly and answered, "It doesn't matter. It was a long time ago. He was just a close childhood friend."

He gave a crestfallen laugh that suggested the desire to drop the subject. Germany stared at his friend, perplexed. He has never seen Italy with this mood before.

The usually boisterous nation's eyes were wide open and shadowed. His face was white and his shoulders sagged. He stared at his pasta blankly, making no movement to grab the fork and continue eating.

That's not a good sign. A plate of unfinished pasta plus Italy equals absolute and unadulterated heresy.

Germany felt a strange sensation. Like someone was pulling at a painful section of his heart. The overwhelming urge to comfort and console overtook him.

"If you don't van't to talk about it, ve don't have to," he said in a low voice.

Italy smiled half heartedly in return before sighing and answering, "Veh, I'm sorry for dampening the mood, Germany. I think it's best that we don't talk about it anymore. I won't be able to finish my pasta!"

Germany watched with amazement as the copper-curled nation quickly shook himself out of the somber mood. His bright smile returned as he took his fork and started to eat his food once more.

But Germany couldn't eat anymore. His stomach was fluttering and his limbs were shaking. Why did seeing Italy so sad affect him so? Everyone gets sad once and a while, right? And who was this mysterious childhood friend? What happened to him?

"_Ever since the 900's, I've always loved you." _

The unknown voice filled his head again and he mentally slapped himself. This was just getting ridiculous.

He knew one thing for sure. He would be paying Austria a visit tomorrow.


	3. Holy Roman Empire

The sky was rather bright today. The sun seemed to illuminate the baby blue color and the white fluffy clouds looked…well…extra white. Germany squinted his eyes and flinched at the brightness. It wasn't that he didn't enjoy nice weather, it was just that he'd been locked in his dark room with all of the blinds drawn for several hours just thinking about the strange images he'd seen and what Italy told him.

_I have never seen Italy look so serious before._

It bothered the nation to see his friend's mood change from optimistic to gloomy in a matter of seconds. It also pulled at Germany's curiosity. Who was this mysterious kid that Italy had befriended? What happened to him? It must have been pretty bad to cause Italy to mope about it, even to this day.

The sun penetrated his back and shoulders and Germany instantly regretting wearing his heavy military uniform. He grunted and tried his best to ignore the sweat that was forming on his skin. He looked around at the scenery, taking in the various trees and old charming buildings of Austria. He breathed in slowly and prayed that Austria was actually available today. Germany was really anxious to find out more about Italy's childhood and how it connects to what he saw.

He replayed the images in his mind. A broom, a piano, a little girl…a little girl with a long copper curl. _Mein Gott! _She looked exactly like Italy! Germany huffed. Is Italy hiding something from him? Who IS this little girl that is so prominent in his visions? He shook his head violently and charged on forward, finally reaching Austria's house.

He sighed as he looked at the house. He doesn't like to come here to often. Austria was such an insufferable aristocrat who _relieved himself of his frustrations _through playing the piano. Whenever he was in his presence, Germany always had the impulse to smash himself over the head with Hungary's frying pan. In fact, he didn't understand how someone as free spirited and rebellious as Ms. Hungary could handle the pig headed Austria.

Germany inwardly groaned as he knocked on the front door. He prepared himself for Austria's lecture about his pathetic choice of allies. Seriously! Italy wasn't even that bad! With a little more training, he could…well….he was fast! He was fast when you threatened him with the British army. Or egged him on with the promise of pasta.

After a moment, the door swung open to reveal the aristocratic Austria. His face was set in that permanent pompous expression. His dark hair was neatly done and his glasses were set upon his nose perfectly. Germany gritted his teeth.

"What do you want, Germany? I was in the middle of playing a rather melancholic piece in D minor," he said in his patronizing voice. Germany's eye twitched. This man gives Italy a run for his money in the insufferable department. Actually, no. Austria wins because Germany actually finds that he enjoys Italy's company.

Germany sighed and opened his mouth.

"Well, spit it out. I haven't got all day," the aristocrat said, straightening his glasses.

Germany squeezed his eyes shut. "I-I need to ask you something."

He opened his eyes to look into the face of Austria, who was staring at him skeptically. He sniffed slightly and responded, "Can I come inside?"

Austria bristled slightly as he looked at Germany's less than formal appearance, but he stepped aside anyways and ushered the blonde nation inside. Germany stepped over the threshold and wrinkled his nose at how _neat _the damn place was.

Everything just looked so embroidered and symmetrical and even one speck of dust would look extremely out of place. Germany definitely felt like a dirty rag tossed carelessly on the floor compared to everything else that surrounded him. Again, he never liked coming here much.

But now that he was here, the images he had seen seemed to become sharper. They had definitely taken place here.

Germany stood there awkwardly, shifting his weight from one foot to the other.

"Well, what is it?" Austria demanded, still with that patronizing tone. Germany sighed and realized how odd it would seem to be asking about his fellow ally's childhood.

"I vas just vondering...Italy lived here for a vhile, right?"

Germany felt extremely awkward as he asked the question, avoiding Austria's eyes. He stared down at his feet and felt his cheeks warm up.

_He better not think that I actually love Italy…that way…_

_Because I don't! Really._

"Yes? And why does that concern you?" Austria responded snappishly. Germany sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. This was really embarrassing when it shouldn't be! He was just asking a simple question! Yet, why did it all seem way too personal? Why did he feel like he was invading someone's personal privacy?

"I don't know how to explain this, but er…I-I saw some images…_visions…" _

"You're telling me that you had visions? Please, Germany, we don't need another England running around…" Austria mused skeptically, strutting over to his grand piano and sitting on the bench. Germany glared at the aristocratic nation.

Germany let out a frustrated groan. Okay, so he couldn't talk about the visions if he was going to taken seriously.

"Forget about it. I vas just vondering if Italy had another sibling besides Romano, and if that sibling lived with here as vell."

Austria looked over his shoulder at Germany. "Another sibling besides Romano? No, of course not! Where would you get that idea?"

Germany's shoulders dropped and he let out a sigh of defeat. "I just…thought…there vas a girl…"

Austria gave a tiny chuckle. "Well, when Italy was living with me, I thought that he was a girl for the longest time. Everyone thought that he was female, of course. So naturally, I thought it would be proper for a young girl to wear proper attire. He mostly cleaned the house of course and he never gave any indication that he was male. So I never questioned it. That was of course until he hit puberty-"

Austria shuddered slightly at the thought. "But that is a different story."

Germany gawked at Austria.

It all made sense. The pretty girl with the long copper curl that he saw in his visions…was actually Italy, himself. But…how can that be possible? That little girl was so beautiful! So…cute! Germany felt his face heat up in embarrassment.

_Mein Gott!_

He mentally slapped himself.

Germany watched as Austria slowly slid his fingers over the keys of the piano.

"Is that all you came to ask me?" Austria asked, his tone obviously suggesting that he'd prefer it if Germany left his house.

"Urr…no. One more question. Vas there anyone else living vith you at the same time Italy vas besides Hungary?" he pressed, his cheeks still flushed at the recent discovery that the beautiful little girl was actually Italy.

Austria paused and turned back around to look at the blonde nation fully. His eyes flashed slightly behind his glasses. Germany felt slightly taken aback by the way the other nation was staring at him. He gulped and his left eyebrow started to twitch.

Then suddenly, the corner of Austria's lip twitched up into a smirk. "Germany, do you remember anything about your childhood?"

Germany was surprised by the sudden and off topic question. "Vell, I remember that mein big bruder raised me. But not very much. Vhat does this have to do with the question I asked?"

He suddenly felt very defensive as Austria's smirk widened. What the hell was going on, here? He clenched his fists and breathed heavily.

After another minute, Austria turned back toward the piano and played a single key, a sharp and clear middle C. "Yes, there was another child living with me at the time. He was a nation and if I remember correctly, fairly close to young Italy."

"Who vas he?" Germany pressed.

"He was the Holy Roman Empire. He was a fairly well behaved boy. The poor thing faced a lot of problems as he grew up. He left my house quite early to attempt to strengthen his empire."

Germany was puzzled. Holy Roman Empire? He had heard of the nation before, but he never really was interested in him. He knew that his empire was around the same area where his country is today.

"Vell, vhat happened to him?" Germany asked.

Austria sighed. "He was killed a long time ago. France killed him after him back during the revolutionary era."

Germany felt strangely numb as he heard the news. He didn't know why this should affect him or have anything to do with his strange feelings he's been receiving, but the news seemed to spark something in him. His breath hitched as something else flooded his vision.

He was looking into a mirror.

A mirror that reflected back a small boy. The boy had a dark cape and dark hat with blonde hair and big glowing eyes.

The image left as soon as it came and Germany felt disoriented.

"What's wrong?" Austria asked.

"I-I…" Germany spluttered.

"It would be helpful if you could form coherent sentences," Austria huffed dramatically. Germany backed up slowly, the fading images swimming before him. The little boy seemed to _know _him. It was unnerving to say the least and Germany wasn't sure how he felt about it.

"T-That's all. I have to go now," Germany said through deep breaths. Without another word or look at the shocked Austria, he fled from the house. He squeezed his eyes shut and ran as fast as he could, not caring that his military uniform was sticking to his skin and that the sweat was pouring due to the hot sun. He didn't care that his lungs were burning or that his limbs were protesting.

It was just a small image! It shouldn't be that big of a deal!

Then why was he so unnerved? Why was he so shaken about the little boy in the mirror? That little boy with the dark cape, blonde hair, and big eyes?

_I know him. _

Germany was sure of it, yet nothing seemed to connect at all. He was sure he had never met a small boy like that in his life. And why was Italy so reluctant to talk about him? Austria had mentioned that the two were rather close, but just…how close?

It disturbed him slightly to hear that he had died and that France was the one who did the deed.

He never heard much about the Holy Roman Empire before. Prussia barely even talked about the nation when he was educating young Germany. All Germany remembered hearing was that the empire was an attempt at rebuilding what Sir Roman Empire had lost and that it wasn't successful. Germany never actually thought twice about the subject.

The blonde nation paused and stood there, bent over, his hands on his knees. He panted and instantly regretted running so fast under the hot sun. After he managed to catch his breath, he forced himself to stand up straight. His eyes trailed over his feet and he realized that he was standing on smooth paved ground. Germany crinkled his sweating brow and looked up from his feet to the scene before him.

There was an archway. A huge medieval looking archway that served as an exit from Austria's house. It was definitely old and archaic looking, but its majesty seemed to take Germany's breath away. He suddenly wondered how many armies have exited through his archway to fight and die.

His head started to ache as something seemed to consume him.

_Nein! Not again!_

Germany clutched his head as another image crept up on him, hazy and illusive at first, but growing clearer and clearer…clouding his vision.

He was about to walk through the archway. His heart was broken and he could feel the tears building up behind his eyes. He knew that once he left, he'll most likely never come back.

But someone was calling him. He turned around and saw the little girl with the copper curl.

He felt a sense of joy well up within his chest. But he knew it would be short lived. His departure would be inevitable.

Nevertheless, some words were exchanged. Germany couldn't make out what was being said, for the image faded in and out, but he knew that with the twisting of his gut and the overwhelming swelling of his heart, that it was something special.

The little girl's face got closer and closer to his…slowly closing the space between them…

_Ever since the 900's, I've always loved you._

Germany felt like he was being violently yanked out of the image. He squeezed his eyes shut as his breath hitched and the image slipped away completely.

Germany opened his eyes again and all he saw was the old and empty archway. He sniffled and realized, with shock, that tears were spilling from his eyes and that his heart was still throbbing uncontrollably.


	4. The Fear of Being Alone

Germany watched as Italy stood there, the usually bright look inhabiting his face. The Italian man looked at Germany expectantly, waiting for the next set of instructions involved in the daily training. Next to him stood a calm and determined looking Japan, whose frown seemed to grow as he sensed the uneasiness that surrounded the air around the blonde nation.

Germany pinched his nose and sighed, feeling overwhelmingly tired. He wasn't really in the mood to be around the Italian man right now, and he _certainly _was not in any state to engage in heavy physical training.

_Nein. Ve need to train as much as ve can._

Germany was yelled at by his crazy boss this morning. But it was really nothing new. The blonde nation was used to it by now, coming from the high strung and psychotic fuhrer. It's not like he had any choice but to obey the damn man anyways. He cursed his boss in his head for a few seconds before commanding half heartedly, "Alright, let's warm up with ten laps around the perimeter of the forest."

Italy's face fell and Germany braced himself for the complaints.

"But Germany-"

"Ack! Don't even start, Italy!" Germany burst out, losing his patience. He watched as the Italian nation jumped up in slight surprise, a panicked expression on his face before he took off running. The blonde nation watched his retreating figure, his mind swirling and his head ache increasing.

That little child with the dress he saw in the visions was definitely Italy. There was no doubt about it.

Whenever he found his minds around the little girl, he felt his heart beat against his chest, accompanied by a blush that crept up his neck. With the thought that the little girl that causes such emotions within him is actually not a little girl…and in fact Italy….well…it has caused Germany to unintentionally look at Italy in a different light.

A very different light.

_Scheiße! I'm turning into a pervert!_

Japan hadn't made any movement to run. The Asian nation just stood there, his eyes trained on Germany, a curious expression on his face. He knew that something strange was going on with the Aryan nation. The atmosphere was tense and strong enough to capture Japan's attention.

"Germany-san, are you okay?" he asked cautiously.

Germany grunted in response, rubbing his temples. His vision was filled with Italy's face. That bright smile, that innocent charisma, that annoying voice, that copper curl…

Then, he thought of Italy in a dress.

Germany's face flushed with heat and he immediately slapped himself across the face, earning a shocked look from Japan.

"Something is distressing you," Japan inquired.

Germany glared at the Asian nation and snapped, "It doesn't concern you, Japan! Shouldn't you be running?"

Japan simply stared at him for a few seconds longer, surprised by the amount of tension that surrounded his ally. He simply nodded and responded, _"Hai." _

With that, Japan started to jog in the same direction that Italy went. Germany let out a huge breath and rolled his shoulders. He attempted to rid his head of all ridiculous thoughts involving Italy in a dress, child or adult. He tried to forget about the visions and the confusing emotions, at least temporarily.

This is war. He couldn't let himself abandon that fact.

With that thought in mind, he started after Japan in a slow and steady jog. With each step, he increased his speed. Unfortunately for the Aryan nation, with the increase in speed came the increase in unwanted thoughts.

Italy's face bounced back before his eyes again and he gritted his teeth. The pounding of his feet against the ground sent tremors through his body and his frustration intensified. He felt like he was fighting against some sort of iron barrier.

_I AM NOT A PERVERT! THAT'S FRANCE'S JOB! _

Yet despite his inner tirade, everything else went swirling around his head like a massive tornado. There was little Italy with a broom and his dress; there was the interior of Austria's house, looking more massive than usual; there was the little boy with the big blue eyes, the dark hat and cape, staring back at him in the mirror; there was little Italy's eyes filling with tears as his face came closer and closer to his; that unnamed declaration of love that seemed to tear through his heart…

Just staring at the little child with the copper curl, surrounded by nothing but the fresh spring trees and grass… heart swelling with admiration, stomach swirling with those "butterflies," wanting nothing more than to kiss the beautiful little nation in front of him...repeating names back and forth…

"_Oh, Holy Rome…"_

"_Oh, Italy…"_

"_Oh, Holy Rome…"_

"_Oh, Italy…"_

"_Oh, Holy Rome…."_

_Geschlechtsverkehr! _

Germany came to a halt and bent over, panting. He placed his hands on his knees and squeezed his eyes shut, boiling frustration and embarrassment coating every recess of his mind. His skin felt extremely hot and he knew that it had nothing to do with the exercise…for he hadn't even finished one lap.

"Veh, Germany…you look like a tomato!"

_Scheiße! _Just the voice he wanted to hear.

Germany's eye twitched. He didn't look up at the Italian, who was hovering over him.

Italy spoke again, but his voice had a concerned edge to it. "Are you tired already? That's not normal for you, Germany! Do you not feel good?"

Germany felt pathetic. He knew that there was absolutely no excuse for him to cut training short like this. Nevertheless, he knew that it was inevitable. Shame crawled through his body and it intensified the blush that coated his skin.

_Mein Gott! I'm abandoning my country!_

He forced himself to stand up straight, but his limbs were shaking. His skin still felt extremely hot, and it didn't help when he looked into Italy's slightly concerned face.

_He is a very attractive man. Of course, I'm just making an ovserva…_

Germany mentally smacked himself before he could finish the thought. He quickly averted his eyes to his feet and stammered, "Training is canceled. I-I don't feel very vell…"

"Veh, you don't look to good, Germany! What you need is a nice bowl of pasta! Let's go to my house!" Italy burst out with that joyous voice of his.

Germany instantly panicked. He didn't think that he could handle going to Italy's house in this state. Not when he was so confused and disoriented. He breathed in shakily and said, "I-Italy, I don't think-"

"I'll make the potatoes again!"

Ugh….

Germany cursed himself. Italy was just being generous. It would be foolish to refuse him because of he was questioning his sexuality.

Plus, if he was cautious about it, he may be able to get the Italian to spill a bit more about his relationship with Holy Rome. Maybe Germany could even tell Italy about his visions. Maybe Italy knew something that could help him with this…

Still avoiding the other nation's eyes determinedly, Germany sighed and responded in a gruff voice, "Fine."

"_Terrificante!_ I'll ask Japan if he wants to come too! Veh, we could have a party! Well…that is if you feel better. But don't you worry! My pasta can make anybody feel better!" Italy exclaimed.

Germany's insides fell. He didn't have a problem with the Asian nation, but he just…didn't want Japan to go to Italy's house as because he wanted to spend some time with just. ..

_Nein! Nein! NEIN! _

_This is courteous acceptation of hospitality with an added opportunity of gaining knowledge about these damn visions! Nothing more, nothing less!_

_Italy is my ally! I don't see him any other way._

_Really._

"Hey Japan! Japan!" Italy called out to the panting Asian nation, who was bending forward, his hands on his knees and sweat dripping down his face.

"Germany cancelled training today because he doesn't feel well. So we are going to my house for some pasta! Do you want to come?"

Japan's eyes trailed over Germany suspiciously and the Aryan nation immediately looked away. Japan already had the feeling that something was off about Germany today.

Japan stood up and winced slightly. "I am sorry Itary-san, but I have other business to attend to."

Italy sighed. "Veh, Japan, you are such a party pooper. Just because you are a decrepit old man doesn't mean you can't enjoy yourself once and a while."

Japan looked like he wanted nothing more than to just leave. However, the Asian nation was used to the strange Western treatment of his allies by now, so he just shrugged it off.

"Maybe next time."

Germany instantly felt himself perk up at Japan's decline to the invitation. He would be with Italy all alone!

…Awkward silence…

Why was he so happy about this?

_Anhalte, arschloch! _

"Italy, I feel better. There is no need to…ACK!"

Italy smiled down at Germany, who was sitting on the red sofa at the other nation's house. To Germany's dismay, the Italian man had shoved a thermometer right into the Aryan nation's mouth.

"Veh, hold still Germany. I'm just taking your temperature…hmm…why are you so red?" Italy asked with a slight frown on his face.

Germany knew that his blush had nothing to do with his "illness."

Italy slipped the thermometer out of Germany's mouth and looked down at it, a cute frown still present on his face.

_Cute? Nein. Absolutely not!_

"You do have a bit of a temperature," Italy stated before he gently placed his hand on Germany's forehead. The blonde nation immediately stiffened under the other nation's touch and his heart started to pound violently against his chest. Every part of his skin tingled and he knew that if anything, his body temperature just skyrocketed by about ten degrees.

Italy withdrew his hand and the bright smile reappeared on his face. "I know what to do! Just lie down and make yourself comfortable! I'll be right back!"

With that, Italy bounced off toward the kitchen. Germany's eyes were glued to his back, his breathing hitched and his state of mind completely frazzled. The blonde nation breathed in and positioned his body so that he was lying on his back, his head against the arm rest of the couch. He felt extremely awkward in this position…almost vulnerable. He cleared his throat slightly and shifted his arm to the right. When that wasn't comfortable, he shifted his arm so that it was closer to his body.

A few minutes later, Italy came back with his characteristic smile and a wet towel in his hands. Germany groaned inwardly as Italy approached him and gently placed the freezing wet towel across his forehead.

"There! You'll be all better soon! The pasta is on the stove and I peeled the potatoes too!" Italy reassured Germany before sitting on the other end of the sofa, upon the armrest.

Germany sighed and closed his eyes. "_Danke_, Italy."

And he truly was thankful. Yes, the Italian man may be irritating, a bit useless at times, and cowardly, but he did have a big heart. He was honestly one of the nicest people that Germany has ever met.

And despite what Austria thought about his choices in allies, Germany wouldn't have it any other way.

After a few minutes of pondering, the blonde nation opened his eyes and let out another shaky sigh.

"Veh, what's wrong Germany? Do you feel alright?" Italy asked from the other end of the couch. Germany did feel a bit less flustered. The intense flush had disappeared and his heart had settled down. He felt content as he lay on the couch, with a good _friend _watching over him.

"I feel a lot better," he answered lightly.

"That's good! I always get worried when you don't feel well…" Italy trailed off. Germany hoisted himself up to look at his ally with a curious expression on his face. There was something off about the other nation. Italy's usual boisterous voice seemed to be tainted with a sort of sadness.

Germany could see it in his posture as well. Italy's shoulders were slumped slightly and his face was tightened into one of concern. His eyes were fixed on nothing in particular, and he looked like he was reminiscing something.

"Italy? Are you okay?" Germany asked, frowning.

Italy immediately attempted to pull off a smile, but Germany could see that it did not reach his eyes, which were actually fully open for once…showing off the liquid amber that seemed to glow with intensity. Germany had to admit that he had incredible eyes.

"Veh, I'm fine. I'm just…well…a bit scared, that's all," Italy responded, his voice choking on the last few words.

Germany felt a curious feeling fill him. What was that? Pity? Empathy? Sentimentality?

He was not used to this at all and it scared him.

"Italy…" Germany started to say, but he was cut off by a small sniffle. To his alarm, he saw that tears started to spill out of Italy's eyes.

_Dammit! _

Germany didn't deal well with crying people. Yes, he has seen Italy cry before, but that was out of foolish cowardice…or if he ran out of pasta.

He had never had to deal with something like _this _before.

"I'm s-so a-afraid of being alone! I don't want t-to fight! Veehh, I don't w-want anybody to d-die! I don't like f-fighting against the other nations. I w-want it to stop…" Italy choked out.

Germany sat there, frozen. Part of him said that he should go over there and comfort him, but he knew that he would probably just make the whole think awkward. But he didn't want to appear insensitive…after all; the Italian nation was spilling his heart out to him.

Italy wiped his eyes and took a huge shuddering breath. He turned his head to look straight at Germany, who stiffened under the other nation's intense gaze. "Veh, I'm sorry, Germany. I've probably made everything extremely awkward."

He didn't know what it was. Maybe it was his vulnerable facial expression, his red cheeks, his wide tear-filled eyes. Nevertheless, Germany found himself scooting himself closer to Italy and hesitantly wrapping his arms around the Italian nation.

At first it was a strange feeling, showing open affection like this. Yet, Germany found that it wasn't hard for his muscles to ease into the embrace. Italy's bodily reaction reflected shock at first, but then his body also responded to Germany's embrace.

Immediately, the nostalgia engulfed him again. He was leaning in closer and closer to the little girl's face…the girl with the copper curl…no it was Italy. _It was Italy…_

Germany felt his heart beat increase once again and his skin was tingling. He allowed himself to look up into Italy's face. The other nation's eyes were still wide open, his mouth slightly open.

Suddenly, Italy looked away and his face was pained again. "I just hate being alone."

Germany sighed and slowly let go of Italy, setting his arms at his sides and staring forward. His mind was swirling, his cheeks were heated, and his heart was jumping to his throat.

_Vhat is going on?_

"_Ever since the 900's, I have always loved you…"_

That line had been replaying over and over in his head like an endless tirade. Germany didn't know how to feel about it. It caused a swirl of emotions to ignite his whole body…a swirl of emotions he knew was his…yet they weren't…

Italy sighed and said, "I'm afraid of losing you, Germany. I don't want you to die like _he _did…"

His voice sounded much more mature, losing its vibrant tone. Germany was shocked and didn't know what to say. He swallowed slightly and his throat seemed to thicken. His chest constricted and his eyes stung.

_Mein Gott! Am I really crying?_

Germany quickly wiped his eyes and gritted his teeth. He didn't realize how much he actually cared about his ally until now. He didn't like seeing Italy upset. Not at all.

And Italy may be known as a happy oblivious man, but Germany now understood that it wasn't necessarily true. His friend had a lot of fears… a fear of being alone, a fear of losing people he loves…

Because he lost someone when he was a child. It's only natural, isn't it?

He lost his Holy Roman Empire. And for whatever reason, Germany was receiving visions from this lost nation. Or…he thought he was.

_Vhat do you vant me to do? _

Germany knew that questioning a dead nation in his head wouldn't help, but he still did it subconsciously.

"You know…" Italy said in a quiet voice as he turned his head to look back at Germany, whose breath hitched under the other nation's gaze.

Italy sighed and said in a weak voice, "You remind me so much of him."

Germany gulped and opened his mouth to say something…anything…

But he didn't know what to say. His whole body was on fire. Did Italy just compare him with Holy Rome? How was he supposed to feel about that? The intense plethora of emotions overwhelmed the Aryan nation as he stared at Italy, his mouth dry and his heart jumping out of his chest.

Italy suddenly jumped up. The other nation's cheeks were blazing red as he attempted to wipe his tears away.

"V-Veh, I have to go check on the pasta. I think it's time to strain it…"

Germany was taken aback by the sudden flustered action from Italy. He just sat there, silent, staring at his ally, who was now stuttering violently.

He didn't know what to do.

So he just stayed where he was, frozen, and watched as the other nation turned around and quickly bounded toward the kitchen without another look backwards.


	5. Heat

Dinner was awkward for the two nations to say the least. The food was good, as per usual, but Germany found himself twirling the pasta subconsciously around his fork, while staring at the table intently, his whole body feeling absolutely flushed. Italy, for once, was not eating. He just sat there as well, his eyes red and his cheeks pink. There was an uneasy silence that hung between them, swirling in the atmosphere and suffocating Germany.

_If Japan vere here, he vould be choking on his damn guts._

Germany cautiously let out a breath, and his eyes flickered up slightly to look at the Italian, who was still avoiding his gaze, sitting across the table from him and staring at his plate of pasta. Germany pinched the bridge of his nose and gritted his teeth. He didn't know what to do or to say. Yet, he couldn't stand the silence.

But he wasn't good at this type of thing.

How was he supposed to respond to Italy declaring his deepest fear of being alone and of losing his friends? What about the fact that Italy had compared him to the Holy Roman Empire? Germany still wasn't sure what really happened back in the late middle ages between Italy and the deceased nation, but thanks to his visions, he had a pretty good idea that it wasn't anything platonic.

And now Germany is confused as hell.

Why would he be receiving memories and visions that most definitely belong to the Holy Roman Empire? And then there were these…special emotions towards Italy.

Were these emotions Germany's, or were they Holy Roman Empire's?

_Definitely Holy Roman Empire's. I vould never feel that vay toward Italy. _

Despite telling himself this, he still had an uneasy feeling in his stomach that it wasn't true. But he refused to acknowledge this aspect.

This wasn't right! There weren't supposed to be awkward silences with Italy around. Awkward moments…yes. But awkward silences? Italy was never silent. That large mouth of his was always running. The absence of his voice bothered Germany and immediately, his eye started to twitch.

Germany snuck a look at Italy, who was still just staring absent mindedly at his full plate of pasta. The blonde nation sighed. He needed to break the silence. He cleared his throat, took a breath, and said in a delicate tone, "Italy…"

Italy's head immediately snapped up from his plate as he looked at Germany. His eyes widened and his face reddened ever more. Germany could tell that the Italian nation was embarrassed about his loss of emotional constraint not long ago. Not that Italy had excessive emotional constraint in the first place…but the two nations knew that this was a very different situation.

Italy didn't respond. He just looked back down at his pasta.

Germany's agitation started to flare up.

"Italy, stop acting like such a pussy. You have no reason to be embarrassed and this silent treatment is just making it vorse," Germany suddenly snapped, unable to control his mouth. The results were immediate.

And unexpected.

Germany could never recount a time where Italy was angry.

Not one.

In fact, Germany wasn't even sure if the Italian had ever heard of the word.

Yet, here he was in front of him. The Italian's eyes were flashing dangerously and filling up with tears. His face was flushing into an even more violent shade of red. His fists were clenching.

"Veh, Germany! Stop treating me like I'm a hopeless piece of shit stuck to the bottom of your shoe. Just because you don't have feelings doesn't mean that everyone else doesn't!"

Germany was taken aback by the biting outburst. Then it happened again. The tears started to spill from the Italian's eyes and stream down his flaming cheeks. His face crumpled and his shoulders started to shake again.

The blonde nation was exasperated. He didn't understand why Italy was so overly emotional about this whole ordeal. Yes, he could understand why he would be upset, but he didn't understand why this would be tearing the nation apart.

Yet, at the sight of the Italian nation weeping, Germany felt his heart strings being tugged. He immediately regretted his words and all he wanted was to reach out and wrap his arms around his friend. But for some reason, he knew that that wouldn't be the best thing to do, neither for Italy or himself.

He was confused enough as it was.

Before Germany could open his mouth to say something…._anything…_in response, Italy sprang up from his chair, turned on his heel and ran out of the dining room at full speed. The blonde nation sat there stunned, listening to Italy's light retreating footsteps as they climbed up what he assumed to be the stairs.

Germany felt sick to his stomach. He immediately wished that he hadn't eaten anything. He looked down at his half eaten plate of food and immediately felt a bout of nausea overtake him. He pushed the food away and sighed. He pinched the bridge of his nose once again and squeezed his eyes shut, his head throbbing from the stress and confusion.

He had an impulse to go after Italy and console him, yet his conscience was telling him to stay put and let the nation deal with it himself. His mind was also attacked with confusing thoughts that swirled in and out of his brain like white caps.

He saw snippets of images of a little girl with a copper girl, a boy with a dark hat and cape staring into the mirror proudly, Italy's teary face as he poured his fears out to Germany, his ever present smile and other wild facial expressions…

Germany growled in distress and shot up from his seat.

He charged out of the dining room and into the living room before making a sharp left turn to head up the stairs. He bounded up them three at a time, determined to find the Italian nation.

He didn't know what he'd say to him. But it didn't matter.

He wanted to console a friend.

He was faced with a long and dark hallway with many doors. He cursed under his breath and stepped forward. He turned to the first door and knocked on it lightly. There was no response. He gripped the door handle and slowly tugged it open. Germany groaned.

It was a storage closet.

_Scheiße! _

Germany knew that if he attempted to look behind every door, he wasn't going to get anywhere. So he did the thing he was best at doing.

He yelled.

"ITALY! GET YOUR ASS OUT HERE RIGHT NOW OR I'LL MAKE YOU RUN THIRTY LAPS!"

Germany had a small uneasy feeling that now would not be the best time to yell at an emotionally distraught Italy, but it was the only thing he could think of doing. The blonde nation winced at the sound of his grating voice echoing through the hall.

Nothing happened.

Not even a creak of the floorboards.

Germany sighed in frustration and was about to holler once again, but a door creaked open up ahead to the left. Italy's head emerged from the door. The blonde nation was startled to see the tears that still streamed down his face, as well as the obvious antipathy that was present in his glare.

In fact, he was very reminiscent to his brother Romano as he ruthlessly stared at Germany.

"Go away," Italy snapped before slamming the door shut. The crack echoed eerily through the hallway and Germany jumped slightly at the noise.

A curious emotion filled him. It ate away at his chest and a mixture of bitter anger and hurt filled his throat.

He was feeling the bite of rejection.

And he didn't like it.

Germany gritted his teeth, feeling his temples pulsing and his face grow red. He marched toward the door that he had seen Italy slam and slammed his fist against it, causing his knuckles to throb. Nevertheless, he kept pounding furiously.

"Italy, you _dummkopf. _Open this damn door immediately! I need to talk to you," he growled aggressively, unable to control the rising irritation that was building in his body.

No response.

Germany closed his eyes and took a deep breath. He slowly inhaled, and then exhaled, attempting to clear his mind of all thought and anger.

_Calm yourself, Germany. Self control. That's it. Speak rationally. The man is obviously upset. Be gentle._

After another moment of heavy breathing, Germany tried again. He tapped lightly on the door and said in a calm and soft voice, "Italy, please open the door. I'm sorry for yelling at you."

Germany's heart leapt when there was a small click and the door creaked open slowly. Italy stood at the doorway, his face no longer distorted in anger. There were tear stained that ran the length of both of his cheeks, his eyes were wide and slightly bloodshot, and his lip was quivering. His hair seemed more tousled than usual and his breathing was slightly labored.

The blonde nation felt something inside him clench unpleasantly at the sight of Italy. He didn't like to see his friend so…so…ruined.

He felt the sudden need to hug him.

But he didn't follow through with it.

Instead, Germany just stood there for a moment, staring into the eyes of the expectant Italy.

Finally, the blonde nation opened his mouth and spoke. "I'm sorry, Italy. That vas out of line. I understand that you are upset, and I should be more sensitive to these kinds of things."

Germany felt his limbs twitched as he offered the apology. He wasn't used offering any sort of apology to anyone. He wasn't a very conciliatory man. He preferred penance to be done the hard way.

Italy sighed and closed his eyes. "Veh, it's alright. I may have overreacted a little bit. I know that you don't like to deal with this stuff, so it must've been really weird for you."

Germany stared at the other nation intently. He took in his flushed and tear- stained cheeks, his wide brown eyes, his tousled brown hair…

The nation felt his stomach turn over and his heart pump violently from his chest. Immediately, he felt his cheeks flame and he started to curse himself.

_NEIN! Stop being such a pervert!_

"Uh…do you v-vant to talk about it?" Germany asked as cautiously as he could. He found that his voice was shaking and that his limbs started to tremble a bit. The Italian man stared at his ally with a slightly curious expression on his face.

"What's wrong Germany?" he asked innocently.

Germany winced and cursed under his breath. He breathed in through his nose and then said, "Italy, I have something important to tell you."

Italy's eyes widened slightly before he said, "Veh, I think we should talk in here."

He stepped aside and ushered Germany in. The blonde nation immediately felt his face go red as he stepped in.

He was in Italy's room.

And with the light slam of the door and the click, he knew that he was in here…

With Italy.

Alone.

_Alone._

_Nein! Do not let your mind run! Control! CONTROL!_

Italy brushed past Germany and took a seat on top of his red bed covers. He watched as his light weight made an indent on the mattress. Italy patted the spot next to him and Germany immediately felt his face flame up again. But he ignored this and slowly made his way toward the bed. He hesitantly sat on the mattress, listening to the springs creak with the pressure of his weight.

There were only centimeters between he and the Italian nation. Neither said a word.

Germany felt the tension hang thick and heavy in the air. Italy sniffed slightly.

"What do you need to tell me?" Italy asked quietly.

Germany shifted his weight slightly and leaned elbows against his thighs, folding his hands together. His shoulder muscles aches from all of the strain he was putting on them and his cheek muscles felt extremely tight and hot.

"Um…this may be a bit awkvard, Italy, but uh…I need to know if these vords mean anything to you," Germany choked out, feeling as if his whole body were being dipped into a cauldron of boiling water. This was so fucking embarrassing.

"Veh…what words?" Italy asked, moving his eyes so that they were set on the blonde nation.

Germany breathed in and forced the words out of his mouth. They felt strange on his lips…almost fluid. Natural. And it frightened him.

"Ever since the 900's, I have alvays loved you," he said, looking down at his hands, his heart pounding violently against his chest and his stomach erupting in this strange fluttering feeling.

Silence.

Absolute silence.

Germany could hear his ears ringing and he winced, holding his breath. He didn't dare look over at the Italian. He was afraid to see what his reaction would be.

_Mein Gott! It's not like you're actually CONFESSING your love to him. You are just telling him what you've been hearing! It's not that big of a deal!_

Yet, Germany still felt extremely vulnerable…like he had just poured his heart and left the contents out in the open. His skin was hot and cold at the same time. He was biting the inside of his own cheek so hard that he was drawing blood. He could even feel a light sheen of sweat start to form at his hairline.

This was too much.

Finally, after an agonizing minute, Italy spoke.

His voice was dangerously soft.

"Where did you hear that?"

Germany gulped and let out a shaky breath. He didn't know what to say. How would Italy react if he told him that he was having visions? Seeing things? Hearing things?

How would he react if he told him that he was receiving visions about Italy's dead lover?

From his point of view?

"I-Italy-" Germany started.

"Veh- where'd you hear that?" Italy asked again, this time a bit louder. His voice was laced with a mixture of pain, fear, and agitation. It made Germany's stomach flip over.

He cautiously snuck a peak at the nation next to him and saw that Italy's shoulders had tensed, and his eyes were extremely wide.

"I-I…I don't know how to explain this," Germany stuttered, running his hand nervously through his hair, which was starting to fall into his face. He tried in vain to push it back, but to no avail.

"Germany," Italy whimpered. His voice sounded so helpless. So lost. So…so sad.

Germany couldn't help but make eye contact with him. His heart started to thunder in his chest and he felt a flash of heat travel through his body. Violent chills ran down his spine and his breathing became shallow.

He didn't understand what was going on.

He was breathless as he stared at his ally.

His ally…whose eyes were wide and glittering with an intensity mixed with admirable innocence. Whose brown hair was messier than usual with the exception of one long curl that never seemed to change. Whose cheeks were smooth and bright and stained with tears.

Germany gritted his teeth.

Italy spoke again, his soft lips mesmerizing the blonde nation. "Please tell me where you heard that."

Germany closed his eyes and spoke.

"This may sound crazy, but uh…I have been having…visions. Vell…more like images. I hear things and see things that I'm sure are real. They're sort of like memories…and I believe that they belong to Holy Roman Empire," he stated, his voice going slightly hoarse at the last part. He looked down at his hands once again.

He heard Italy's sharp intake of breath, followed by his question. "Veh, what did you see?"

Germany sighed and answered in a soft voice. "I saw you. I thought you vere a girl at first, but then I realized it vas you. That's vhy I asked you if you had a sister. It bothered me a lot, so I vent to Austria to ask him about your childhood, as he did raise you. That's how I found out about Holy Rome. I can also say that…uh…that from the memories I've been receiving that Holy Rome obviously…liked you. A lot."

Germany looked back at Italy, who was staring blankly at the wall before him. He didn't move. He didn't blink. It was slightly eerie.

The blonde nation felt his heart break slightly. He didn't like this. He didn't like it when Italy was so distraught and cold. Even though his ally was very irritating, he had to admit that he missed the loud and boisterous pasta-worshipping fool. In fact, he found it rather…dare he say it? _Cute._

Germany slowly reached out a hand and placed it gently on the nation's shoulder.

"Italy, I'm sorry. It must be hard to lose somevone you love. I…uh…vish that I could um…relate to the situation more, but I've never lost someone…"

Germany winced at his words. He wasn't one for sympathy, but he didn't want to just sit there and do nothing.

Suddenly, Italy turned his whole body to face Germany. The blonde nation's eyes widened as he watched his ally change positions. His ears were filled with the sound of springs creaking as Italy brought both legs up to the bed, and hoisted himself up so that he was kneeling, hovering over the other nation. The Italian man shifted himself so that his body was literally pressed against the Germany's.

Germany didn't know what to do or what to say. His throat was dry and his whole body was a huge mixture of ice cold waves and molten lava. His heart was going to break through his skin any minute now and his head was swirling violently as he took in the unnervingly tender expression on Italy's face.

Then, Italy reached out both hands and gently cupped Germany's face.

Germany jumped slightly at the contact, but remained mesmerized.

Internally, he was cursing himself…telling himself to get the hell out of the room, smack Italy, yell, or…or…_something. _But he couldn't. He just _couldn't. _

He was entranced.

Italy hands were soft and gentle, causing Germany's face to flame up violently.

The Italian cocked his head to the side slightly, his eyes still wide and glittering and his face glowing.

"Germany, say it again," Italy requested gently.

"I-I…uh…vhat?" Germany spluttered, distracted with the extremely close contact between himself and Italy.

"What you heard Holy Rome say."

Germany shivered slightly at the intense passion and longing that coated Italy's voice. He felt as if every sensory neuron in his body had imploded and all he wanted to do was…was to…

To…

Germany reached up to his cheek and covered Italy's right hand gently, feeling the hairs on his arm stand on end at the contact. The air was thick and heavy…yet it was fluid and light. Everything was swirling…yet completely balanced.

And when Germany said the words, they were so natural…so smooth.

"Ever since the 900's, I've alvays loved you."

Italy's brown eyes swirled with bright amber waves. His lips parted slightly.

Then, Italy spoke in a voice so soft that it was almost a whisper…

"You remind me so much of him…that…i-it scares me…"

Then, without warning, Italy let his hands drop from his face, quickly turned his body so that he was facing away from Germany and scooted away.

Germany saw the other nation's face immediately flush a violent shade of red as he stuttered, "I-I'm sorry, Germany. Veh, that w-was stupid…I-I…"

"Italy…"

"I know things were a-awkward already but I just went and m-made them even more awkward, and now you're going to hate me and you'll never w-want to have pasta with me again and then y-you'll forget about me and go become friends with Russia…"

Germany couldn't take one of his rants right now.

The blonde nation didn't know how he felt.

He wasn't sure if he was numb, angry, happy, upset, or just…aroused.

Maybe he was just confused.

Yes…confused was the right word.

"Italy!" Germany snapped, feeling his whole body tremble.

Italy immediately stopped and stared at him with a wild look of fear and shame on his face. Germany couldn't help but find the blush on his ally's face endearing.

The thought made him twitch with frustration and he immediately slapped himself.

Italy jumped in surprised. "Germany! Are you alright?"

"I-I should go," Germany responded abruptly, jumping up from the bed. His legs were shaking and his heart was literally lodged in his throat now. Both of his cheeks were tingling from where Italy's hands had made contact with his skin.

Before Italy could protest or even say another word, Germany flew out of the bedroom, blindly charging downstairs, and then out the front door. He slammed the door shut behind him and breathed heavily. He ran as fast as he could. Ran just like he did when he fled Austria's house.

He was running from the truth.

And he knew it.

So when he was finally far enough away from the house, he stopped. He wasn't surprised to realize that there were tears streaming down his cheeks.


	6. The Revelation

Germany sat on his couch, bundled up under a thick shelter of covers. He felt rather pathetic, curled up in a ball. He felt as if he were hiding.

Hiding from what, though? Italy? Himself? The truth? Everything?

He didn't understand what the hell was going on. First there are these damn visions that most definitely belong to the dead nation, Holy Rome. Then there is the fact that Germany is starting to acquire some…_non-platonic feelings _for Italy.

He can't deny it anymore. He definitely likes…_loves _Italy. _That way. _

Germany bit the insides of his mouth and let out a frustrated groan. He ran his hand over his face and peered out his open window. The stars were shining bright against the black sky. The blonde nation felt the hairs at the back of his neck stand up for some unknown reason. He stiffened and lowered the covers from his chin cautiously.

He looked around the dark room and saw nothing out of the ordinary. Yet, there as something off. He held his breath for a few seconds, listening to every creak that the empty house made. There was nothing wrong. No signs of intruders, no unwelcome guests…

Germany leaned back against the couch and let out a long breath. The war has made him extremely paranoid. He closed his eyes for a second and took another long breath. His mind strayed back to Italy. He couldn't get the damn nation out of his head! The way he laughed and smiled, his irritating, yet endearing voice, his joyful eyes…

Germany shook his head and mentally smacked himself. Now is NOT the time to reflect on such things! He needed to understand what was going on!

This was the second time that Italy had told him that he looked like Holy Rome. Something about that didn't settle comfortably with Germany. For some reason, the remark had more significance to him than anything else.

He tried to replay some of the visions in his head. The little girl with the copper curl, crying and sweeping the floor with a broom. The raw pain of leaving a loved one for war. The goodbye kiss. The confession of love. A promise…

_A promise…_

Germany never remembered a promise. Why did he just remember it now? He struggled to remember exactly what the promise was, but his mind went blank. He couldn't recall anything about a promise, yet he was sure there was one. He clutched his hair frustratingly and growled angrily.

_The sooner I figure this out, the better._

He needed to get this out of the way. He had a war to worry about. He didn't have time for ghostly memories and unexpected romantic feelings. Plus, this whole ordeal was making everything so…weird!

Italy is now an emotional wreck. Germany is receiving visions from a dead nation, _and_ has romantic feelings for Italy.

It's a mess.

And it needs to be fixed.

_Damn you, Holy Rome. Why me? _

Then, without warning, he felt like someone had cut open his chest, reached in, and twisted his heart. He winced as the tears filled his eyes. Germany started to shudder and he clenched his teeth together to prevent himself from completely falling apart.

_You broke your promise. You never came back._

The words seemed to slap him right in the face. He didn't know who was saying it to him, but he knew that it was true.

No…no no. _He _didn't break a promise to anyone. Germany never broke promises. No. Holy Rome broke a promise. To who? Italy?

Then why did Germany feel so much pain? It didn't make any sense at all.

The blonde nation wished that he could actually just talk to the dead nation…just for a little while so he could understand what the _hell _was going on.

Without warning, there was a huge _Bang! _It echoed through the whole house and caused Germany to jump up in fear. Instinctively, he reached for his gun, which he kept on the table that sat right next to the couch.

"West! You better not be asleep because I brought beer and I expect you to drink it with me!"

Germany's shoulders slumped and he gave an irritated sigh. The annoying voice of his brother rang in his ears like an unstoppable siren. To make matters worse, Prussia wasn't the most graceful of people when he made his presence known.

Germany heard a crash and the sound of something being knocked over.

"Ah, shit! That's so not awesome! Uhhh…west, you might want to buy a new vase…"

Germany's eye twitched as he gritted his teeth to prevent himself from yelling obscenities at Prussia. Finally, the albino walked into the living room. His bright red eyes glinted in the darkness of the room and in one of his hands was a pack of dark beer.

"What the hell are you doing here alone in the dark? Masturbating? Kesesese…"

_Just breathe in and out. That's right…don't lose your head Germany…_

The blonde nation winced as the violent shock of light mutilated his eyes.

"Now that's better!" Prussia announced. After Germany's eyes adjusted to the lights, he glared at his brother, who was now sauntering toward the blonde nation. He watched as Prussia carelessly collapsed on the couch and put his feet on the short table in front of them.

"_Vhat the fuck are you doing here?" _Germany growled at Prussia, who had opened a bottle of beer. The albino nation brought the bottle to his lips and swigged it before setting it down, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, and leering at his brother.

"Stop questioning my awesomeness, west. I'm just being the awesome _bruder _that I am. I mean come on! Look! I brought beer! Bottom's up!"

Prussia took another swig.

Germany sighed exasperatedly before reaching out to grab a beer as well. "Really, Prussia, vhy are you here?"

The Albino nation's grin faltered a bit as he took another huge swig from his beer, finishing it off. He frowned slightly as he opened another one.

"Austria told me that you came in wondering about Italy's childhood the other day," he finally answered. He took another gulp of the alcohol.

Germany felt his face flush red. He didn't understand why the idea of his brother finding out about his would make him feel embarrassed beyond belief, but it did. He felt so…exposed. His heart started to pound against his chest and his stomach churned unpleasantly. Germany tipped his head back and gulped the beer, despite his protesting stomach.

"Vhat does that have to do with anything?" Germany finally snapped at his brother.

"Jeez, no need to be so defensive, west. Rich boy said that you two talked a little bit about good ol' Holy Rome. He also said that you freaked out and ran off. He just wants me to talk to you about it," Prussia said with a shrug.

"There's nothing to talk about," Germany said flatly as he downed the rest of his beer before hastily reaching for another one.

"Actually…there's a lot to talk about, _bruder. _I don't give a damn about what personal issues you currently have, but according to Austria, you have a bit of a problem with the mention of Holy Rome. So he thinks that you need to know the truth and that I, being the awesome Prussia, should be the one to break the news to you." As Prussia said this, a strange look passed over his face. It was a _serious _face. His usual smirk was watered down and his devious red eyes weren't glinting with mischief.

"News?" Germany asked, realizing that he was getting a migraine. He never got migraines from beer, let alone only two. The blonde nation opened another one and downed it.

Prussia sighed and ran his hand through his shock of white hair before shifting his weight slightly on the couch.

"How much of your childhood do you remember, west?"

Germany was taken aback slightly by the question. Didn't Austria ask the same thing?

"Not much. Just that you raised me. I don't know. It's all very hazy, to be honest," Germany responded, his head hurting once again from thinking about it.

Prussia's lips tilted up in a sort of grim matter before he said in a careful voice, "Have you ever wondered why nobody ever told you where you actually came from? Haven't you been curious at all?"

Germany was slightly taken aback by the intense way his brother's red eyes flashed at him. The blonde nation fidgeted under Prussia's gaze as he shakily tilted another bottle of beer back, slowly gulping half of the contents.

He carefully put the bottle back down, his limbs shaking and his head pounding.

He finally answered, "Vell, I-I never thought it to be important…"

Prussia closed his eyes and sighed. Germany watched as the albino nation shook his head slowly before saying in a quiet tone laced with a hint of bitter humor, "We may need to get the Russian bastard to bring some vodka for this, west. It's a lot to take in."

"I don't understa-"

"Holy Roman Empire isn't dead."

Germany shut his mouth and stared at his brother intently, trying to find any signs of mockery. But for once, there was nothing but impassive seriousness on Prussia's face. Germany felt like his heart was crawling up his throat.

"B-But…didn't France-"

Germany was confused. Austria had said that he France had killed him, and that's why Italy is so upset. But…but if he isn't dead, where was he now? Was there any way that Germany could talk to him and ask him why he was receiving his memories?

And what did this all have to do with his childhood?

Prussia just shook his head. "Everyone thinks he died. The only people who know that he's actually alive are Austria and I. After all, I am Holy Rome's big _bruder_."

Germany was beyond confused as he stared at his brother, who was now smiling grimly. This didn't make any sense. He knew that Prussia had been around for a while, but he never knew that Holy Roman Empire was his younger brother. Does that mean that Germany and Holy Rome are brothers as well? The blonde nation's head started to hurt again as he took the beer bottle again and finished the rest of its contents.

"You still don't get it west, do you? Jesus, you're slow. Okay, I guess I'll keep going then. Holy Rome left Austria's house when he was a child to go to war. He was at war for a very long time. When he was a teen, he took a fatal blow by France during the Napoleonic wars. Everyone thought that he had died, but he didn't. But his empire did dissolve and he sort of…de-aged. Because the damage was so great, Holy Rome turned back into a child…a child with no recollection of who he was or what had happened. I found him wandering along the western border and I brought him in. I knew that he was Holy Rome, but I didn't say anything because if France ever found out that he was alive, he'd just come after the child again. So I gave him a new name and he still goes by that name with no recollection of who he really is," Prussia said all in one breath. The albino's eyes were now literally on fire as he stared at Germany.

The blonde nation was holding his breath. His heart was bouncing against his ribcage violently and his stomach was flipping upside down. His limbs were shaking uncontrollably and his mind was swirling in a torrential haze.

_But…but that means…_

"He goes by Germany now," Prussia said in a quiet, yet firm voice.

_Fuck._

XX

Outside Germany's house sat an Italian with a long copper curl. He was crouched right below the open window. The events that occurred between he and Germany at his house had definitely affected him in more ways than he wanted to admit.

There was something strange going on. Italy didn't know what it was, but it really was bothering him.

So he decided to pay his friend a visit, but when he saw Prussia coming toward the house, he hid in some shrubs, below the open window.

And…he had listened to the whole conversation that had taken place.

And he had to bite on his wrist to stifle the sobs that came out of his mouth as the tears trailed down his cheeks.


	7. The Sting of Rejection

Sleep was impossible. Each toss and turn and shift in position made discomfort increase. Germany's eyes stung whenever he opened or closed them. His breathing was heavy and his heart pounded in his ears. And the short periods where he would doze off, he was plagued with disconnected images and memories of a little girl with a copper curl, of a broken promise, of a kiss…of Italy…

And now he knew. They weren't someone else's memories being passed down to him. They were his. All this time, Germany has been recovering from major long term amnesia. His name wasn't even Germany for Christ's sake. He was really…he was…

He was the Holy Roman Empire.

He always had been. And World War I was not the first time he had been introduced to Italy.

The thoughts played over and over again in his head. He couldn't handle this. Germany thought that if he had figured out what the hell was going on, he would be at peace and things would go back to normal. But no. He wasn't expecting _this. _

And how was he going to break the news to Italy? How would his friend react? Would he embrace the truth? Would he reject it? Would he faint? Cry? Yell?

Would he even believe him?

What if he loses his friendship forever?

Germany's chest constricted violently at the thought. He knew that he wouldn't be able to handle that. Losing Italy as a friend would be like…like…he didn't even know the right words to describe how it would feel.

Obviously, it would hurt. Alot. The thought alone made him cringe. Even though the Italian had a tendency to slack off, take siestas at inappropriate times, crawl into his bed at night, rant on about pasta, wave the white flag, cry an unhealthy amount, and displayed useless military skills…Germany couldn't imagine his present life without any of that.

Italy truly is his best friend.

And now he's a lot more to Germany than just that.

The blonde nation didn't know how he would actually be able to _talk _to Italy. They had training tomorrow. No doubt that it will be awkward. Especially after the strange occurrence at Italy's house yesterday, along with the added addition of Germany being told that he is the Holy Roman Empire.

Japan is going to have an atmosphere sensing explosion.

Germany sighed and squeezed his eyes shut, trying to calm himself down. After much tossing and turning, he finally fell into an uneasy sleep.

That night, he dreamt. He dreamt that he was surrounded by blowing green grass. The sky above him was a bright baby blue and the fluffy clouds hovered over the earth. His black cape whipped around his ankles and his hat shielded his eyes from the rays of sun.

He had his hand outstretched toward a small girl wearing a maid's dress and a white apron. Her brown hair was tied back in a white head piece, exposing only her thick bangs and one distinct copper curl that swirled off the side of her head. Her cheeks were pink and her eyes were squinted with long lashes that seemed to stick out.

"Become part of the New Roman Empire, Italy…" he heard himself say.

ACK!

Germany shot up from his bed with a bewildered yell. After a few moments of breathing in and out to calm himself down, he ran his hand through his messy blonde hair and let out a frustrated groan. This was going to be harder than he thought. And that dream…

Oh, what the hell. It was probably a memory.

Germany grunted angrily, but he still felt a bit shaken up. That dream had caused his skin to become all hot, and he knew that his face was flushed. His heart was pounding against his chest and he had a strong desire to go see Italy and…and…

What did he want to do?

Germany shook his head and forced himself out of bed. His head hurt and he felt a bit groggy. He cursed his brother for showing up last night and telling him some huge news, while conveniently in possession of alcohol.

_At least it vasn't vodka…_

After freshening up a bit, Germany pushed his hair back and dressed himself in his military clothes. He glanced at his clock and saw that he had about twenty minutes until training started. Not that it really mattered at this point…Italy always showed up late unless he was spending the night at Germany's.

After a quick breakfast, Germany headed over to the meadow by the woods that stood in front of the large church. The sun was out today, but it wasn't too hot. Good for training, at least. As Germany walked, he thought about everything.

He was Holy Rome. He had almost died and then became Germany. He had a romantic relationship with Italy as a child. Italy still hasn't gotten over what happened, and he thinks that Holy Rome is dead. And he had made a promise to Italy…yes. He promised that he would come back. After the war was over, he said that he'd return.

In a way, he did come back. But does it really count?

Germany had a feeling that Italy still holds on to that promise with every fiber of his being. And it hurts to think that.

When he had reached his destination, he saw Japan waiting there patiently for him. Italy hadn't shown up yet. Just as expected.

Germany breathed a sigh of relief. Japan was staring at him with curious eyes and Germany inwardly flinched. The Asian nation definitely did unnerve him a bit, especially with his highly accurate "mood-sensing."

"Um…right…now ve just have to vait for Italy…" Germany stated awkwardly, his shoulders tightened and his voice strained. He jerkily scratched the back of his neck and stood there.

A few minutes passed in unbearable silence. Then another few minutes. Then ten…then fifteen….

Germany started to get worried. Italy should definitely be here by now. His eye twitched and he clenched his fists in aggravation. He shouldn't be worrying this much! Knowing Italy, he probably slept in or got caught up making pasta…

But something in Germany's gut told him that something was wrong. And he didn't like it.

"Vhere the fuck is he?" Germany finally snapped, restlessly tapping his foot. He grinded his teeth together.

"Maybe Itary-san is sick?" Japan suggested in that calm voice of his. Germany just sighed angrily and pinched the bridge of his nose. He didn't like this feeling…something was wrong…

"Fine. Ve'll just start. Ten perimeter loops," Germany stated.

Italy didn't show up at all, which lead for a rather quiet and uneventful training session. Japan did what he was told without question and generally kept his mouth shut. Germany would usually find this kind of obedience to be beneficial, but he actually found it to be quiet boring. He actually missed the Italian's constant wailing and complaining and rants about pasta. The thought made him depressed.

Not only that, but he was really worried. It's common for Italy to show up late to practice or fall asleep, but he always showed up no matter what.

Germany wiped the sweat from his forehead and frowned. Maybe he ought to go over to Italy's house…just to see if he was alright. Maybe he is sick.

Dammit. If he was sick, Germany knew that it wouldn't be the best time to tell him that he was his long lost love. Speaking of which, what would happen from there?

If he told Italy that he was his supposedly "dead boyfriend" or whatever he's considered, then…wouldn't that also be painfully awkward? Would they pick up where they left off?

Germany gritted his teeth in confusion as his face burned.

After training ended, Germany headed back home to freshen up. He took a shower and put on some fresh clothes.

He decided that he would just show up at Italy's house to make sure he was okay. It would at least put his mind at ease. He won't tell him about the whole Holy Rome ordeal…not yet anyway. If Italy was truly sick, then it would be best to withhold the information until a better time.

The sun was high in the sky by the time Germany started to head to Italy's house. The scent of fresh grass filled his nostrils and he couldn't help but let his shoulders relax a little bit. He tried to contain his overactive thoughts by breathing in and out slowly and telling himself that it was fine, that Italy was okay and that he didn't have to tell him anything…at least not yet.

He finally reached Italy's house. He frowned to see that all the usually open and bright windows were dark with curtains drawn over them. The house looked…desolate. Germany felt a strong uneasiness creep in his stomach and he gulped.

He hesitantly made his way to the front porch and gave the door a light knock.

"I-Italy? Are you there?"

No response. Germany knocked again.

"If you are, please open up…"

Still no response.

Germany felt his unease heighten. An irrational irritation swept through him and he cursed under his breath.

He pounded louder on the door, starting to lose his resolve. "Italy! Open this door right now!"

He frantically grasped the handle and to his surprise, the door opened. Germany gasped. Did Italy forget to lock the door? What was going on? Germany always taught him to lock the door during times like these.

Germany peered in to the hallway to see that it was absolutely dark and still. He knew that he'd feel guilty about this later, but he couldn't help it. He slipped into the house and closed the door behind him.

There was something extremely wrong here.

He forced himself to walk down the hallway. Everything was absolutely silent save for the creaking noises Germany's feet were making against the wooden floors. He swallowed again, finding that his throat was dry.

"I-Italy…" he called out weakly.

What if something happened to him?

An icy sensation swept over Germany, but he quickly pushed it away.

No. Italy is fine.

He reached the living room. He recoiled at what he saw.

The couch was overturned with some of the white stuffing spilling out onto the floor. The lamps were both on the ground shattered, and ripped pieces of paper…pictures maybe…were littered all over the floor. The table was turned on its side with its legs broken and the walls were stained with…was that blood?

Germany felt bile rise to his throat. What the fuck happened here? He shakily made his way across the living room, breathing heavily.

He needed to find Italy…

Germany turned around and burst into the kitchen with lightning speed. The sight before him here was even worse.

Broken shards of plate lay all over the floor. All of the cabinet doors were opened…or ripped off their hinges and various food items were scattered everywhere. A pile of empty beer cans and wine bottles lay here and there and the scent of alcohol stung Germany's nostrils.

However, the wooden table was still standing, and there was Italy, lying face down on the table, his hand limply grasping a beer can. He was absolutely still.

Dammit. Germany raced toward the Italian, tripping over a few scattered items on the floor. He hesitantly poked the Italian, only to receive no response.

"Italy! ITALY!" He yelled, panic seizing him. He was about to check for the nation's pulse, but Italy stirred slightly with a groan. Germany breathed a sigh of relief, but he didn't let his guard down. He eyed the pile of empty bottles and cans wearily. How much did Italy drink?

He knew from personal experience that the Italian had awful alcohol tolerance, so Germany always went with Italy when he went drinking to make sure he didn't get out of hand. Usually, when Italy got drunk, he got extremely ridiculous and goofy…but when he drank to the point where he got sick…he turned…unpleasant to say the least.

Italy wearily lifted his head and looked up at the blonde nation. His eyes were bloodshot and swollen…as if he had been crying. His hair was disheveled and his skin was pasty white.

To say it kindly, he looked like absolute shit.

"Italy…"

The Italian recoiled clumsily, as if he were disgusted by the thought of Germany touching him.

"Veh, D-don't touch me!" He choked out, his voice groggy and his words a bit slurred.

He was somewhat sober. That must mean he drank all last night, passed out, and now he was experiencing an awful hang over.

But Germany was still surprised by Italy's bitter tone.

"Italy…" he repeated.

But Italy cut him off. "Y-You promised m-me…"

Germany felt as if he were punched in the stomach. Shit….this wasn't supposed to happen. He opened his mouth, but no words came out.

Italy continued, "Veh, Y-you really should l-learn to keep y-your windows shut…"

Then it dawned on Germany. Italy had heard everything. He had foolishly left the window open the night that Prussia told him that he was Holy Rome. And Italy, being Italy, probably snuck to his house and night and overheard the conversation.

Germany didn't know what to say…so he didn't say anything. He just stood there, feeling his limbs start to shake.

Italy let out a small laugh that seemed to turn into a choked sob. "I-I never really g-gave up on y-you, you know…e-even though Austria and e-everyone else told me he was d-dead…but no. He probably l-lied to me as well, didn't he?"

Germany spoke, "I-I didn't kn-know…"

But Italy shook his head frantically. "N-No…No. No! I-I don't c-care!"

The Italian shot up from his seat, swaying on the spot. He grabbed the table to support himself and Germany had the immediate instinct to reach out and grab him, but he stifled it. He was sure that Italy wouldn't want that right now.

"I d-don't care if y-you're actually h-him. You're G-Germany! You're n-not Holy Rome! You-"

Italy took another deep breath, a look of panic, anger, and pain present on his face.

"You don't know _anything. _I-I don't c-care if you l-lost all your memories. The r-real Holy Rome is d-dead and h-he can't be re-replaced! N-not by you…not by anybody…" Italy broke off into a helpless heap of sobs.

Germany's heart felt like it had been ripped out of his chest and stomped on. So this is how Italy would take it. He would reject him. He would be in denial. He would be pissed off beyond belief. But that wasn't the thing that hurt the most. The thing that really hit home was seeing Italy so…so broken…so defeated.

"Italy…" Germany started again, reaching out hesitantly, feeling as if his throat was closing up. But Italy recoiled once again, glaring at him through angry tears.

"You're not him! You're n-not Holy Rome!"

"Okay, Italy…"

"You're Germany!"

"I am…"

"Get out!"

"W-What?" Germany choked, taking a few steps back. He felt numb as he stared at Italy's furious face.

"I said get out," Italy repeated, advancing on Germany.

The blonde nation had never seen his Italian friend act this way before. Never in a million years did he think he'd ever see him act like this. This couldn't be real…

"But I…" Germany choked out.

"I-I didn't ask for this. All I w-wanted was for y-you to c-come back…but I don't want it anymore. I d-don't want any of it…" Italy sobbed, his voice growing weaker and weaker. Germany watched blankly as his friend fell to his knees on the floor.

Germany realized that even though he looked so defeated, so awful, so sick…Italy was still the most beautiful person Germany had ever seen.

It didn't make it any easier.

"J-Just leave. Please," Italy whimpered.

Germany stared at him for a few more seconds before turning around and bolting out of the house. Alcohol sounded extremely good right now. Even vodka from Russia.


	8. Romano's Advice

"Kesesese, I knew that you couldn't handle your alcohol as well as I can!"

Germany winced, his head pounding uncontrollably as he squeezed his eyes against the sun. That damn sun! Why the fuck was it so bright, dammit? Germany wanted nothing more than to take a huge machine gun and shoot at the stupid golden monstrosity.

And his stupid ass of a brother wasn't helping matters. After the God-awful events involving Italy yesterday, Germany immediately called Prussia, who was more than happy to accompany his brother to a bar and have a drink. Although, even the albino nation had to admit that he was a bit taken aback by his younger brother's alcohol binge. Germany drank beer after beer, shot after shot of God knows what, slamming the small shot glass on the table with so much force that he shattered a few of them.

The bartender looked scared out of his mind.

Prussia would never admit it out loud, but he actually felt…sad. He had to endure his brother's drunken rambles all night. And those rambles were accompanied by sloppy tears and sobbing about Italy and Holy Roman Empire and rejection and all that good un-awesome shit. Prussia had to take him back to the house and look after him all night.

Germany definitely felt the effects of last night. What had happened last night? He didn't even fully remember. His memory blanked after Prussia said something about Italy.

_Italy…_

Germany's chest ached and his head seemed to pound even more. An overwhelming feeling of sadness and dread overcame him at the thought of the Italian. The memories from yesterday's "visit" to his house were still fresh in his mind, replaying over and over again.

There were several things wrong with what happened yesterday.

First of all, Germany had never seen Italy so broken. Yes, he'd seen him upset…quite unusually so in the last few days, but this was just…unspeakable. Italy was actually genuinely angry, and it didn't settle well with the blonde nation at all.

Second of all, Italy had rejected him. He had figured out who Germany really was, and he had rejected it, threw it back in Germany's face. He didn't want to accept it. Was Germany really that bad? Was the thought that he was actually Italy's lost, "dead" love so horrible?

And then there's the undeniable fact that Germany has strong feelings for Italy. Non-platonic feelings. Germany didn't exactly know how they came to be so strong, but he had a strange feeling that they've always been there. He just didn't realize them until he saw that first vision. And it hurt more than anything to think that Italy didn't love him.

Italy loved Holy Rome. He loved the young child with the black hat and cape. The child who supposedly died near the end of the French Revolution.

Italy didn't love Germany. Even if they were the same person, Italy saw Germany and Holy Rome as two different nations.

Germany heard his brother sigh. When Prussia spoke, his voice almost sounded sympathetic. "West…"

Germany grunted in irritation. His head was literally going to split open and he felt like absolute bullshit. He didn't want to talk. He didn't want to hear his brother try and be all "brotherly." It would just probably disturb him.

"…If you could just try and talk to Italy…"

"Nein. He'll probably just throw pasta in my face or something…" Germany groaned.

Germany heard Prussia sigh again before he said, "I'll go get you some medicine for your head. I'm sure that it hurts like a bitch right now."

He heard his brother retreat. Germany let out another shaky sigh and tried to squash any unwelcome thoughts of Italy from his head.

This was unbelievable. Germany was not one to let his mind remain so shamelessly on one object…let alone one person. He liked balance. Control. Yet, when it came to Italy, he couldn't squash any of it out. His thoughts were literally on fire. Flames that licked away at every part of his being.

That bright irritating, yet endearing smile. Those bright brown eyes with amber flecks in them. Those smooth boyish cheeks…always sporting a faint pink blush. That tousled brown-copper hair with that one flyaway curl…

The way he always laughed and talked and sang…even the unbearable way he'd yell, "Germany! Germany!"

Germany was in deep. Italy was his one true best friend. He went through quite a lot with the bombastic nation, and when Germany was hurting, Italy, intentional or not, always knew how to make him feel better.

It bothered Germany that his friend was hurting now, and he couldn't fix it. Not only that, but he was the cause of the dilemma.

He knew that things between the Italian and him had changed forever. Even if they make up and try to go back to the way things were, some things were just not reversible.

XX

Germany hadn't seen Italy in a week. He had canceled training, much to the suspicion of Japan, and kept himself cooped in miserably in his house. Germany would wake up in the morning, go on a quick run, come back home, and go on a beer drinking binge. He would never let himself just sit and do nothing…not sober at least. He wanted to keep his mind off of Italy as much as he could.

Prussia came to visit him sometimes, but even his brother found this whole ordeal rather depressing. Japan dropped by with some food yesterday and the two shared an extremely quiet and awkward lunch. Once he left, Germany opened another beer and chugged it.

He hadn't heard one single peep from Italy. Not even a hint as to what's going on with him.

Germany didn't know if he was relieved or aggravated at that. He ended up shaking it off due to the throbbing ache he'd get in his chest.

One night, after Germany had had a rather pitiful meal of wurst and potatoes, he heard a knock on his front door. Immediately, the blonde nation stiffened and grabbed his gun before making his way to the entrance. He swung the door open to find himself facing none other than…

Romano?

Germany stared at the moody Italian blankly.

Italy's brother looked like Italy himself, except his hair was darker and there was a permanent scowl etched on his face. Still, the blonde nation found it hard to look at him due to the painful resemblance.

"Ummm…" Germany drawled oh-so intelligently.

Romano scoffed and pointed a finger at Germany threateningly. "What the fuck did you do to my brother, potato bastard?"

Germany was taken aback. His eyes widened and he found himself taking an instinctive step backwards. Romano looked pissed. Well…he always looked pissed, but he looked extremely pissed right now.

"I-I…vait. Vhat are you talking about?" Germany questioned, his voice shaking slightly.

"_Che palle! _Don't play dumb, potato head. Veneziano showed up at my house a few day crying up a shit storm, screaming crap about you and Holy Rome. Then he ransacked my liquor cabinet. Now he won't talk, barely eats anything, and flinches whenever your name is said. Don't you dare say you don't know what the hell is going, because I know you do!" Romano ranted all in one breath. Once he was finished, he panted, his eyes blazing in anger as he stared at the blonde nation.

Germany opened his mouth, but no words came out. Instead, he felt as if he'd been punched in the stomach. Was Italy really hurting that much? All because of him?

Finally, he closed his eyes and set his mouth in a flat line, breathing in steadily through his nose. Then he responded in a quiet voice, "It's a long story."

"Well, I came all the way over here didn't I? Why else would I show up at the front door of some muscle headed potato bastard's house? I want to know what happened to _fratello_, and you are fucking telling me right now!" Romano demanded, his cheeks turning bright red with frustration and rage. Germany's eye twitched in irritation, and he wasn't in the mood to really have a chat with Romano, but this was Italy they were talking about.

And this was Romano. The Italian brother who detested Germany, who refused to go within ten feet of him. (Unless France was around. Then he'd conveniently stuff his head under Germany's jacket in fear.)

But he was here now. And Germany could see that beyond the moody anger, there was sincere worry on Romano's face. Despite the fact that the Southern Italian claimed he thought his brother to be an idiot, everyone could tell that he tried his best to play the part of big brother (even if it wasn't enough a lot of the time.)

"Vhy don't you come in?" Germany said with an exhausted voice.

Romano scoffed and muttered a string of curse words under his breath, but the moody Italian still roughly pushed past Germany and entered the house. Germany closed the door behind them and led Romano to the living room.

He cringed as he saw the state of the room. Shit…he should've really gotten rid of those beer bottles. And maybe washed that plate...

Romano, however, didn't seem the least bit affected by the sight. Maybe his eyes narrowed a bit…but what was new. The Italian marched over to the couch and collapsed on it without any sort of reserved hesitation. He crossed his arms across his chest and glared at Germany.

"Well? What the fuck is going on?" Romano demanded.

Germany pinched the bridge of his nose and gulped. His throat was achingly dry and his stomach was churning unpleasantly. He really did not want to openly tell an angry Italian that he was his little brother's long lost love. Not only that, but add the visions and the complicated emotions and the actual facts…

"Um…vell…"

"Come on, bastard. I don't have all day," Romano spat.

Germany gritted his teeth before saying in a quiet voice, "I'm Holy Roman Empire."

"What? Speak louder!"

"I'm Holy Roman Empire."

There was silence. Germany didn't dare look into the Italian's eyes. He stared steadily at his feet.

The words felt strange on his lips. He was the legendary Holy Rome. The nation with a sad ending. The long lost nation no one seemed to talk about anymore. A distant memory.

"_Vaffanculo!" _Romano exclaimed. "Shit! _Madre di Christo!_ You've got to be fucking kidding me."

Germany didn't respond. He just continued to stare at his feet.

"But he died, didn't he? Veneziano never talks about him," Romano continued, still with that frustrated tone.

Germany sighed once more before allowing himself to explain as much as he could to the Italian without sounding like a complete crackpot. He claimed that he had "vague" memories and that he had questioned Prussia and Austria about it, and they told him the truth.

Romano was silent, staring at Germany with hard eyes. Finally, he spoke again.

"I just can't believe that it's…_you."_

"It doesn't matter. Your bruder von't accept it. I found him at his house and he vas a wreck. He pushed me avay and I haven't seen him since," Germany responded coldly.

Romano suddenly banged his fist angrily on the small table in front of him, his face flushed with fury. Germany jumped up in surprise before glaring at him.

"Vhat…"

"You are a fucking _idiota!" _

"Um…"

"My brother is like a little girl. You of all people should know this. He always cries and goes overboard when he's overwhelmed. This time, you're the cause of it and you're just going to let him sit in his house, cry all day, and drink horse piss?"

"I…"

"I knew you were bad news. But I always thought that you'd fight for him no matter what. That's the only reason why I actually give a tomato's shit about your safety!" Romano snapped.

Germany was taken aback. He opened his mouth again, but as per usual, especially these days, he was at a loss for words. He just stared at the Italian's angry swirling eyes and his red face.

Finally, Romano sprung up from the couch, clenching his fists.

"Look, potato head. Holy Rome or not, my brother, for some God forsaken reason, loves you. Yes. I said it. He _loves_ you. He's just too stupid to realize it now. Are you just going to fucking ignore someone who needs you because you're afraid? That's bullshit."

Romano stormed past Germany and toward the front door. The blonde nation turned around to stare at the Italian with wide eyes. He felt numb…shocked beyond belief that Romano could say something so…meaningful.

The Italian paused at the door and turned around once more.

"Next time I see you, you better be with my brother. Got it, potato bastard?"

And with that, he swung the front door open and slammed it shut behind him.


	9. The Eloquent Confession

As usual, sleep didn't come easily for Germany. Romano's words tumbled around his head like an unstoppable and extremely annoying bowling ball. Since when did that tomato-loving _dummkopf_ get so meaningful? Is it even legal for someone as unpleasant as him to give out relationship advice? And yet, Germany couldn't help but cling on to those words. He didn't understand why, but a lot of what Romano had said made a lot of sense.

He was Germany! When he loved someone, he wasn't supposed to just let them roll around in their own shit and misery. He had to go over there and do his best to fix it. Germany always had to clean up the mess that Italy left…whether it be dropping some bread crumbs or tomato sauce on the floor, or getting him out of jail at one of the allied force's places. So why was he backing out now? This all has to be fixable, right?

But how would he fix it? Is he supposed to go in there and talk to him? Try and be gentle? Listen to him? Hug him? Kiss him? Germany felt his face flush up at the last thought, but for some odd reason…that option seemed like the one that would have the most effect. Well, it would definitely catch Italy's attention.

_Mein Gott! Vhat the hell am I supposed to do?_

Germany shot up from his bed and grinded his teeth. The sky outside was starless, the absence of light casting strange shadows from the window and onto the walls of Germany's room. He swallowed and gently put his feet to the cold ground, standing up. There was no use in trying to sleep. It would just frustrate him more.

Maybe he could go on a night run? Just to get him a bit tired so that he could sleep more effectively? The thought made Germany groan internally. He was not in the mood to work out. He would be yelled at by his boss later, he knew. Germany had cancelled training all week due to his "romantic" crisis, and had basically stayed cooped up in his house thinking, cursing himself, and drinking. He had no desire to find out more about his childhood. He didn't want to get to know this "Holy Roman Empire." It would just depress him.

But something struck Germany. Something that Romano had said. The angry Italian had said that whether he was Holy Rome or not, Italy still loved him. Germany. Italy loved Germany. Could that even be possible?

Germany knew that Italy was a generally loving man. He seemed to adore Germany…but he sort of acted that way around everyone. Especially if he wanted to suck up to someone, or if he was afraid. Germany frowned. Could Italy actually love him in a special way? A way that was only reserved for a special someone?

What was there to love about him? Germany yelled a lot. He hardly smiled. He lacked social skills. He had very little patience and tolerance, as well as an awful temper…Germany's eye twitched. To be honest, he didn't really seem like Italy's type.

But then again, he never really talked to Italy about romance or girls or boys or whatever he was into. Maybe Italy was into that sort of thing.

What was Holy Rome like? What was he like when he was a child? He can't remember. He just can't remember anything apart from the few clear visions or memories. They didn't give much away, apart from the fact that he doted on Italy. And that he thought Italy was a girl.

Germany realized that he was a lucky bastard then. To love Italy and have him love him back. But now, he wasn't Holy Rome anymore. He was Germany. A sovereign nation in the middle of a war, along with too many alliances, and a crazy boss.

Germany walked into the hallway and switched on the lights. He made his way into his living room and cringed at the huge mess. God, he really had let himself go, hadn't he? Beer bottles, vodka bottles, dirty plates, dusty blankets, sweaty clothes, strewn pieces of paper…

The blonde nation smacked himself in the head with his hand. How could he let this happen? All because of one stupid Italian with a stupid flyaway curl.

He would fight for Italy, dammit. He would fight, starting now.

He couldn't believe he was actually taking Romano's advice.

Germany rubbed his hands together and got to work. He cleaned out the living room first, and then the kitchen. He washed the plates, the clothes, and the blankets, he threw out the bottles and the paper, he scrubbed the floors and walls thoroughly…he cleaned the kitchen as well, picking up any crumbs or food items…

Germany even went into his bathroom and washed himself off. He took a shower and shaved. He took off his dirty tank top and slipped a clean black one on. He pushed his blonde hair back and sprayed on some mild cologne…not too much, but enough.

Training is back on tomorrow.

In fact, he'll contact Japan right now.

He walked over to his phone and dialed Japan's number. After four rings, he heard Japan's voice on the other side.

"Moshi, moshi?"

"Japan? It's Germany. I vanted to tell you that training starts again tomorrow, eight AM sharp."

There was a two second silence before Japan responded, "Hai. I'rr see you tomorrow then. I'm assuming Itary-san is not coming?"

Germany sighed. "I'm vorking on that one."

He knew it would take a lot more than a phone call for Italy.

"I understand. Goodnight Germany," Japan responded.

"Goodnight, Japan."

Germany hung up the phone and stared at his clock.

It was midnight.

But he didn't care.

He didn't give a flying shit if Italy was asleep, or passed out, or drunk, or sick, or crying, or whatever.

He was going to go to Italy's house right now.

And fight for him.

He'll convince him to come to training. He'll tell him that no matter what, first and foremost, he's Germany and always will be, Holy Rome or not. He'll maybe even tell him that he has feelings for him…and if he's really daring…he'll even kiss him.

If all fails, he can just blame it on Romano.

Germany bolted for the front door, opened it, and slammed it shut behind him before he could change his mind about the whole thing. There would be no backing down this time. He needed to get this done. He wouldn't just let this all go to shit. No.

So he ran. He ran through the thick forest and over that awful slippery hill and that pile of leg breaking rocks. All the way to Italy's house. He didn't care that the house looked dark and desolate and abandoned and shitty. He knew that Italy was in there.

Under the shadowy sky, the starless night, the lightless plethora of vast horizon…Italy was there in that house. Germany's heart pumped.

Now or never.

Germany took a deep breath, and made his way to the front porch. His heart thudded against his ears with every single step he took. His stomach was turning, flipping and twisting in huge knots. It was hard to breathe as he wracked his knuckles against the wooden door. Seconds seemed like hours as he held his breath and waited…waited…waited…

And then the door opened.

Slowly, gently.

And there, covered in a glorious cascade of shadows was Italy.

He looked magnificent.

Germany couldn't find words to describe the feeling in his gut.

In his heart.

It didn't matter that Italy's eyes were bloodshot, with dark bags under his eyes. It didn't matter that his skin was paler than usual, that his hair was messier and more unkempt, that he looked exhausted, defeated, tired, and…was that anger?

No. It didn't matter.

Because Italy was still Italy. And to Germany, he was the most beautiful thing in the world.

Germany's throat seized up. He opened his mouth to speak, but no words came out.

Italy sighed and stepped aside, gesturing for Germany to come in.

The blonde nation grunted slightly before walking stiffly past the Italian. A bolt of electricity passed through him as his arm brushed against Italy's.

The interior was dark. No lights were on, but Germany was okay with that. He wasn't sure if he was ready for Italy to turn on the light and reveal his overly red face. Despite the fact that it was rather cold, Germany felt as if a heat wave was cascading over him.

He heard the door shut behind him and he knew that it was permanent. There was no way he could just turn around and run away now. Well, he could, but Germany knew that things wouldn't turn out to well if he did that.

It was silent. He waited for Italy to say something. Anything. But the Italian didn't move. Germany breathed in slowly and turned around to face him, only to see that Italy was still at the door, staring at the blonde nation. Germany could see his eyes glittering through the dark.

"U-Um…" Germany choked out.

"Germany…" Italy said with a cautious voice. It was a voice that Germany wasn't used to hearing from Italy. It lacked the boisterous tone, the smile, the sing-song ring. Instead, it was soft, quiet, and almost tender. Germany wasn't sure if he liked it or not.

The blonde nation opened his mouth again, but he just didn't know what to say. When this whole scene played out in his head, he was a lot more eloquent. Romano had made it sound so simple…so easy. But it wasn't. Not when Germany's heart was pounding at his ribcage, not when he was staring at Italy…the most beautiful man in the world.

The Italian nation stepped out of the shadows, and made his way to Germany. The blonde nation was frozen. Italy was coming closer…closer…closer…

Germany could feel the heat radiating off the other's skin, for Italy was standing only a few inches away from him. He wanted nothing more than to reach out and close the distance between their skin. He held his breath. He looked down into Italy's eyes. A strange flicker of emotions passed over his face, a mixture of fascination, hurt, anger, joy, and something else entirely.

Germany felt himself leaning forward instinctively. He managed to stop himself before he made anything to obvious. But it was hard. He didn't realize how strong his feelings for Italy were until now, when he's standing only a few inches away from him. Italy's lips moved, and Germany felt himself mesmerized by them. However, he still caught his words.

"Ve, it's only been a week, but it feels like forever."

His voice was still soft, still tender, almost whisper-like.

Germany was suffocating. It hurt so much, this self-restraint. He was shocked, utterly shocked, that he felt this strongly. Not only emotionally, but physically. He wanted to just grab the Italian's sweet pink cheeks and place his lips on his. Germany gritted his teeth and forced himself to take a step back.

"I-Italy…shouldn't you t-turn on the lights?" he stuttered, cursing himself for how weak his voice sounded. No, he had to be the emotionally stable one here! He just had to!

He saw the Italian's shoulders fall. A small smirk appeared on Italy's face as he answered, "Ve, things are better hidden in the dark."

Germany gulped. Did the temperature just heat up by about…let's say…twenty trillion degrees?

The blonde nation was trembling. Italy wasn't even doing much, but the man was driving him crazy! He gave a shaky sigh and said in a clipped tone, "Vell…um…I am here to tell you that training starts again tomorrow…I-I mean, if you vant to come…"

Italy gave a small smile, a smile tainted with unbearable and nostalgic sadness. "Of course, Germany."

"_Ja,"_ Germany responded lamely, giving one curt nod. Well, so much for eloquence and hardcore romantic fighting. Germany was too shaken up to say much else. He wasn't really sure if he could handle a full-on love confession.

They were silent for a moment, the air thick. Germany could literally hear his heart echoing through his head. He stared down at his feet, doing his best to avoid looking at the Italian before him.

Germany took another breath. He had to say something…anything…

"Italy…"

"Please, Germany. Don't say anything…" Italy clarified sadly.

"B-But…"

"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry for pushing you away like that. It wasn't right for me to do that. You must be extremely confused about this whole thing as well…" he said.

Germany pinched the bridge of his nose in distress. "Look, Italy… I have something to t-tell you…"

"Ve, I have something to say as well. D-Do you mind if I go first?" Italy asked, fear and anticipation tainting his voice.

Germany closed his mouth, his throat dry, his palms sweating as he looked up at Italy.

Italy looked straight into Germany's eyes, his face ablaze with determination. "I don't care if you're Holy Rome or not."

Germany felt his stomach sink. Of course this would happen. Romano was wrong. Italy could never love him the way he loved Holy Rome.

But Italy continued, "I-I don't care because either way…you're Germany. You're my best friend. And I-I…"

He faltered for a second. Germany held his breath.

"…I don't think I could live without you"

The Italian gave a small giggle.

" Ve, this sounds very cheesy, doesn't it? But it's true. Holy Rome…I mean…_you_ made a promise to me a long time ago that you'd come back. I know you don't remember it, but you didn't break that promise, because you're here now. That means a lot for me. It really does. But… it's nothing compared to what you're giving me now...just as Germany."

Italy was blushing. Germany could even see the red invade his cheeks through the dark. The blonde nation's mind was exploding. Romano was right after all. Italy may love Holy Rome. He'll always love Holy Rome, but he's accepted Germany just as he is.

Germany felt like he could jump for joy. He felt like he was invincible…like he could jump over the moon one hundred times. His stomach felt light and a giddy happiness streamed through him. He couldn't keep the smile off his face.

But he still had to say his part.

"Italy…I…"

The Italian looked at him with wide eyes.

Germany took a breath. Keep calm! Keep calm! You can do this!

"S-Someone told me t-that…um…that I need to fight for those I-I really care about…"

Italy's eyes widened.

"Those I…l-l-love…"

Dammit, curse stuttering!

"A-and..you sort of…um…mean a lot to me…no…Italy…"

He gulped, staring straight into the Italian's eyes.

"You mean t-the vorld to me. And um…vell…I lo-l-…"

Italy was now smiling, his beautiful brown eyes glittering at his through the dark.

"I…Ich liebe dich…ja."

Well. That was very…eloquent. So eloquent in fact that Germany could challenge that damned psychotic England and his Shakespeare.

Right.

Everything was silent for a few seconds. Germany was trembling. He couldn't believe it. He couldn't believe what the hell just happened.

Did he just…admit to Italy his true feelings?

Crap.

He just did.

Germany suddenly wanted nothing more than to bury his head in a pillow or smack himself across the face repeatedly. Why did he do that? Why didn't he prepare more for this moment? AND WHY WASN'T ITALY SAYING ANYTHING?

Suddenly, in one swift movement, Italy came up to him, went on his tiptoes, and placed a swift and gentle kiss right on Germany's lips.

The blonde nation literally felt his insides flare up. His mind was melting. The air swirled, magnetic, dizzying, hypnotic, warm…

His lips were tingling. He stared at Italy, his mouth open.

The Italian had a playful smirk on his lips as he slowly backed away. "Ve, I think it's time for you to be going, _Ludwig. _I'll see you at training tomorrow!"

Ludwig? LUDWIG? Italy never called him by his human name. It was considered to intimate…to personal…

And Germany liked the sound of his name on Italy's lips. No…on _Feliciano's_ lips.

Germany numbly walked to the door, and opened it. His whole body was literally on fire. He couldn't breathe, he couldn't think straight…it was bliss. Complete bliss.

"_Buonanotte, _Germany," Italy teased, his voice almost…devious? Sultry? _What the hell?_

Then the door closed behind him, leaving Germany standing on the porch, his mouth hanging open and his heart hammering violently against his chest.


	10. Our Farewell

A/N: Yes. Hitler makes an appearance in this chapter. Remember, this is all taking place during World War II! I also realize that WWII and Hitler are very touchy subjects, so this is just a small warning for mild ideologically sensitive material. And this is the last chapter! Though there is going to be an epilogue! Thanks to everyone who read and reviewed this story. It really means a lot to me.

Germany was nervous. His palms were sweaty as he stood before the fuehrer. He gulped as he took in his boss's cold expression. Germany knew that he hadn't been keeping up with what has been happening in the war lately, and he felt absolutely ashamed. All because of a certain Italian nation, he had let himself forget that they were in the middle of a war.

Germany always prided himself on choosing duty over want. He had always believed that he was the one to make the most sensible decision. And in the course of about a week, he had completely let it go. So, now facing the fuehrer's emotionless eyes, he knew that he had it coming.

The blonde nation immediately held out his right arm robotically and grounded out, _"Heil Mein Fuehrer." _

He held his breath. Germany has had very few bosses that have actually frightened him. This man standing before him, with his sullen face, was one of them.

"You do understand vhy I have called you here?" he asked, his voice harsh. The room seemed to drop by about ten degrees. Germany gulped. He didn't want to open his mouth, in fear of stuttering. He didn't want to show the fuehrer how terrified he truly was.

"Fine, I vill remind you," he said, starting to walk around Germany slowly, never moving his eyes from the blonde nation. Germany stood stock still, gritting his teeth.

"You have been neglecting your duties. You haven't been training, nor have you bothered to check upon the status of the war," he said in a dangerously soft voice. The Fuehrer seemed to be getting closer and closer to Germany. The blonde nation felt sick to his stomach.

"Vhat have you got to say for yourself?" The Fuehrer asked, pausing, and staring straight into Germany's face.

Germany opened his mouth and spoke, struggling vigorously to keep himself from stuttering out of sheer fear, "_Mein Fuehrer, _I'm sorry. It vill not happen again, I assure you. I promise to focus all of my attention to the duties I carry as the country of Germany."

The Fuehrer stared at him for a moment longer, before he broke his gaze and continued to pace. Germany still didn't dare move a muscle, nor did he even attempt to blink.

"Your irresponsibility has had extreme repercussions, I regret to say," the cold leader declared, his voice growing sharper and colder with each word.

"Vhat…" Germany started, a feeling of dread overtaking his chest, and clogging his throat. He closed his mouth before he could choke on his words.

"The Allied forces have invaded Italy. I'm afraid to say that our ally is going to surrender soon. Mussolini is facing heavy resistance movements. Their fascist days are over."

My body felt numb. I-Italy?

His Italy? His Italy was being taken from him?

The thought of Italy being forced to turn his back on him, and surrender to the allies was like a physical stab to the chest. He felt breathless. Helpless. Useless. Used.

"Vhich is vhy I have a task for you," the Fuehrer drawled, now pausing, his cold dark eyes now burning holes into Germany's head.

The blonde nation gritted his teeth, and remained silent, waiting for his boss's instructions.

"I vant you to invade Northern Italy, and do everything in your power to demilitarize it. Destroy their lines of defense. Don't let anyone stand in your vay."

Germany felt like his insides had been replaced with lead. His head throbbed, his chest constricted, and his limbs started to shake. A wave of hysteria and devastation overpowered him.

"Y-You vant me t-to – t-to _invade _Italy?"

The words sounded so wrong. So twisted. So vile. So sickening.

The thought of imposing war against Italy was…was…unspeakable. It hurt. It burned.

"Ja. That is what I just said," the Fuehrer remarked.

Germany's vision blurred.

"But that's _betrayal!" _he spat, losing any sort of reserve he had remaining.

The Fuehrer glared at the country coldly. "It doesn't matter. It's only a matter of time before Italy declares war on us. Ve have to strike first, prevent it from happening."

Germany felt as if he were being crushed to tiny bits. He found himself glaring at his boss for the first time, glaring at him with all of the hate and abhorrence that he could muster.

Because he knew that he would have to do it. There was no backing down from this. Whatever the boss says, it's his duty to carry out the deed. Germany knew, that no matter how much he loved Italy, no matter how much he cared for him, that he will have to invade Italy. Possibly oppress his country, murder his people, betray him. Maybe even declare war on him.

Betrayal.

Right after Germany had earned the Italian's trust back, right after he had confessed his true feelings, right after he discovered that there is a potential for the two of them to become something…more…it all comes crashing down again.

Germany wanted to cry. He wanted to weep bitterly, and just fade away.

Because there was no getting around it. He was a country. He had duties to fulfill. He had no choice.

"You will be leaving tomorrow morning. I vill be waiting for you outside the gate at Austria's house at seven o' clock sharp. No acceptions. And I vant you to cut all connections that you have with the Italian man, starting today. You are to inform both he and Japan that training has been canceled," the fuehrer grounded out with a harsh tone.

This man wasn't human. This man doesn't feel. Doesn't think about the consequences and the pain and…and…

Germany clenched his teeth and nodded, before saluting him. Once he was dismissed, Germany went back to his house hurriedly, where he locked himself up in his bedroom and wept.

This wasn't fair.

Germany was sick of all of this. He never liked wars, even if he did come off as war-like. There was too much emotion, unwanted alliances made, heartbreak, and betrayal.

Yet, Germany knew that nothing would compare to what he was about to do.

How can Italy ever forgive him after this?

Germany's mind went blank. He didn't want to think anymore. He lay on his bed and stared up at the ceiling, the tears spilling from his eyes.

Then, slowly, his mind began to work again.

They were nations.

Not humans.

Yes, they had emotions. Feelings. Relationships. Hearts. Eyes. Limbs. Brains.

But in the end, they were nations.

Nations always betray each other. Nations always fight. Nations always form alliances. Nations always break alliances. Nations always find a reason to bring down another.

It's just the way the world works.

And both Germany and Italy are nations.

It was only a matter of time before they would be forced to bring each other down.

And that hurt the most.

XX

Surprisingly, Germany fell into a deep sleep that night. His body was exhausted. When he had called Italy earlier today to inform him that training was cancelled, the blonde nation realized that this may be the last time he hears his voice as a friend. The next time Germany hears Italy speak to him, it'll probably be in pain, in anger, in hatred…

Germany never thought that he could feel so…human.

So emotionally unstable.

He told himself that it's been good. That his short time with Italy had meant a lot to him, and even though he'll most likely be nothing but a hated enemy to him from now on, Germany will always love him. He'll think about him in his dreams, and replay the memories over and over in his head.

Would Germany ever see Italy smile again?

These thoughts exhausted the blonde nation to no end, to the point where he couldn't keep his eyes open as he fell asleep.

And he dreamt.

A very vivid dream.

No…it was a memory.

The sky was bright and blue, the sun beating down on him.

And he was in a field.

A field filled with nothing but bodies and blood.

And then Germany felt it. The pain. He looked at his shoulders and torso to see that there were thick gashes running the length of his skin. His hands were covered in scarlet. He was on his knees.

And his vision was going blurry. Yet, he knew that this was the end. And it horrified him. It crushed him.

But it was not because he was scared of losing his life. No, it was because of _Italia. _

Germany felt his thoughts being taken over by the thoughts and memories of none other than Holy Roman Empire.

He couldn't die! He had made a promise to her! He told her that he'd come back. Images of the little girl with the copper curl flooded his mind. The little girl clad in the maid's outfit, her smile, her verbal tic, her sincerity, her tears…

Yet, Holy Roman Empire knew that it was over. Finished. This was the end for him. He was fading away. The blood was pouring out, and he was losing consciousness.

_I'm sorry, Italy. I'm so sorry._

A shadow loomed over him. He didn't need to look up to know that it was France standing over him, wielding his sword with a twisted and triumphant smile, prepared to bring down the weapon and finish him.

There was nothing he could do anymore.

A single tear spilled down his cheek.

He prayed. And prayed, and prayed.

He prayed for Italy. He prayed that she would see him in her dreams. That she'd never forget him.

He prayed that there would be a way for him to come back.

_Our Father, who art in heaven…_

He squeezed his eyes shut.

_Hallowed be Thy name._

He clenched his bleeding fists, bracing himself.

_Thy Kingdom come, Thy Will be done on earth as it is in Heaven._

Maybe, someday, in Heaven, or wherever he ended up, he could see her again. But that was God's call. Not his.

_Give us this day, our daily bread. And forgive us our trespasses…_

He hoped that God would forgive him for the sins he's committed. For all the lives he's taken. For…for the promise he was about to break.

_As we forgive those who trespass against us. _

How could he ever forgive them all? Those who had hurt him? Those who smiled at his pain? Those who had tried and tried to demean him? To take his land? To kill him?

_And lead us not into temptation. _

The sun grew hotter. The air grew thicker. His breathing was shallower. His chest was aching. He attempted to let out a sob, but his voice was gone. He could no longer move. No longer make a sound. France brought down the sword.

_But deliver us from evil._

I love you, Italy. Always, and forever.

_Amen._

Germany shot up from his bed, screaming. He whirled his head around wildly, flailing his arms. He loathed that hot sun, that blue sky, those bloody hands, that field of bodies, that utter sense of failure…

But it was all gone. Germany was alone. In his room.

The moonlight filtered through the window. His legs were tangled in the sheets. He was sweating and panting, and yet, he still felt as if someone really did bring the weapon down on him.

And he cried.

He wailed uncontrollably. He didn't attempt to hold it back. To bite his quivering lip. To tell himself that this was ridiculous, and that he was a nation with duties to fulfill.

No. He curled up in a ball on his bed, and just let himself break.

So that is what happened to him. Those were his last thoughts before he "died" and became Germany.

I love you, Italy. Always, and forever.

His heart seemed to tear in half. And not for himself, as either Germany or Holy Rome. But for Italy.

He would have to break a promise, and Italy will have to suffer…again.

Just like last time.

No. Germany couldn't leave it hanging like this. If he is going to leave Italy again, he has to see him. Just one last time.

So the blonde nation blindly stumbled out of bed, made his way to the front door, pushed it open frantically, and ran. Ran as fast as he could to Italy's house.

He didn't care that he could barely see. He knew where he was going.

He didn't care if his feet were bare. That the tears kept spilling uncontrollably. That he was sobbing uncontrollably. That his chest was hurting. That it was so hard to breathe…

Because under the pale moonlight, Ludwig Beilschmidt, not Germany, ran. He ran as fast as he could for the one he loved. Not as a nation. But as a human.

He hammered away at Italy's front door once he reached the house. He didn't give a damn if the nation didn't want to see him right now. He just didn't care. He just wanted to see the Italian one more time. He wanted to see Italy as his friend, as his ally, as his lover, just once more. Because he knew he wouldn't get it any more. Not after the invasion.

The door opened, and there he was. Italy.

Feliciano Vargas.

He was beautiful. So beautiful.

His brown eyes widened at the sight of Germany standing there, sobbing uncontrollably.

"Ve, Germany!" he exclaimed in shock.

The blonde completely broke. He stumbled forward blindly.

The Italian nation caught him, wrapping his arms around him. Germany could feel the softness and perfection of the smaller nation's body against his.

"G-Germany…what…"

"I-I…I'm so s-sorry, Feliciano…" Germany cried. "I….h-had a b-bad dream… and H-Holy R-Rome…d-died…and…"

But Italy didn't need to hear anymore. The smaller nation's heart snapped in half. Tears filled his eyes, as he tightened his grip around Germany.

"Shhh, shhh, Ludwig. It's alright. I'm h-here."

Italy coaxed Germany into the house, still keeping his arms around him. They managed to get up to Italy's room, where they both collapsed on the bed in each other's arms, their tears mixing together as Germany gripped on to the hem of Italy's shirt, while Italy kept both of his arms around the blonde nation, whispering words of consolation in his native tongue.

They didn't need to say anything. They didn't need to talk about it. Italy already knew that something was going to happen. Something that would break him apart. But that didn't matter.

What mattered was that Germany was here with him, right now, in his arms.

Italy slowly withdrew one of his arms from around Germany, and placed his palm on the blonde's tear-stained cheek. The German shuddered and opened his blue eyes, which seemed to shimmer at the close proximity of Italy's face.

"_Ti amo_, Ludwig."

The words were barely a whisper. They swirled around the room, and floated through Germany's body like smooth, yet surging white caps.

"_Ich liebe dich, _Feliciano," he heard himself respond.

And then, Italy's lips were on his. Soft, tender, yet passionate. The Italian's fingernails grazed the German's back, and Ludwig was on fire. He tangled his fingers in Feliciano's hair, his hand gently grazing the long copper curl, causing the Italian to moan into the kiss, and deepen it.

And under the glimmer of the pale moonlight, to the eventual lightening of the sky, to the mists of the pale dawn, Germany wasn't Germany. And Italy wasn't Italy.

No. They were Ludwig Beilschmidt and Feliciano Vargas.

And they were happy to be human…even if it was just for one night.

XX

Germany's eyes flew open. He didn't have time to feel the early morning content of the best night of his life. He didn't have time to lie back down and just gaze at his lover, lying peacefully beside him.

No. He didn't have time at all. The clock on the bedside table read six thirty.

Operation betrayal begins.

Germany had to harden himself. This was it.

He couldn't afford to be human anymore. When he goes to invade Italy, he can't let Ludwig Beilschmidt, OR Holy Roman Empire show their faces.

He was a country. And he had duties.

Germany sat up in Italy's bed, placing both of his feet on the ground. He had to hurry. He had to race back home, grab some clothes, and leave immediately.

He allowed himself to look at the sleeping Italy. Germany's heart melted at the sight of him. He looked so innocent and blissful when he slept. He saw the faint trace of a smile upon the Italian's lips. His brown hair was extremely tousled, making Germany inwardly chuckle. The Italian's lithe naked body lay tangled in a plethora of sheets, and the blonde nation had to resist the urge to lie back down, and take him in his arms…to feel Italy's skin against his again.

No.

He couldn't.

Germany stood up, and found his clothing scattered at the foot of the bed. He slipped them on quietly, and with one last half-second glance at the still sleeping Italy, the blonde nation left the room.

He wouldn't let his heart break. No. He hardened it, so that it was nothing but stone. He overused his tear ducts last night. They were dry. Germany couldn't cry.

His emotional range had peaked and broken. He couldn't feel.

He ran as fast as he could to his house. Once he reached it, he hurriedly freshened up as he usually did. Pushed his hair back, slipped his uniform on, cleaned his face, and he was ready to go.

He didn't dare look at himself in the mirror. He didn't want to see Ludwig Beilschmidt or Holy Roman Empire staring back at him. He didn't dare let himself think about Feliciano. He forced his mind to stay at the task at hand.

This was duty to his country.

This was essential.

So he made his way to Austria's house, and to the old war gate.

And that's when Germany stopped.

It was that old unused gate. The one that the soldiers used to march out of back in the middle ages.

And this was the exact spot where he, as Holy Rome, had said his final goodbye to Italy so many years ago.

Germany's throat clogged and his chest constricted.

The morning chill seemed to alleviate as the bright sun hovered above him, warming his skin, causing him to pause in his footsteps.

The blonde nation stood there, the overwhelming sense of nostalgia and yearning making his eyes sting with…with tears? Could that even be possible?

No! NO! Germany had a duty to fulfill! He had to go! He didn't have time for this.

He marched forward determinedly.

It didn't matter. Nothing mattered anymore.

"V-Ve, Germany?"

Germany froze. His heart hammered against his chest and his stomach fluttered. He dare himself to turn around, and sure enough, there stood Italy.

The slight breeze in the air blew slightly, causing the tree leaves to rustle. It billowed through Italy's brown hair gently. Germany drank him in. Everything about him.

And his heart broke yet again.

"H-How did you find me?" Germany choked out.

"Ve, I f-followed you…" Italy answered, a light blush dusting his cheeks. The blonde nation had to stifle the urge to run over there and scoop the Italian in his arms.

Germany sighed. "I'm sorry, Italy, but you have to go back home. I…I'm leaving."

Italy's eyes widened in shock. To Germany's horror, the Italian took a few steps forward.

"B-But…why?"

Germany couldn't tell him why. He couldn't tell him that he was leaving him right now to betray him. To make plans to invade his country. To cause bloodshed in his homeland. He couldn't do it.

The blonde nation found it astounding that after last night, he still had the ability to cry.

"I'm sorry, Italy."

The German turned on his heel and started to make his way toward the large opening in the stone gate. One step forward, another step, and another…each step took him closer to betraying the one he loved.

"How long will you be gone?" Italy asked, his voice shaking.

Germany paused, clenching his fists, squinting his eyes to prevent the tears from spilling.

"I don't know."

Silence.

Then a sniffle.

Italy was crying.

"Ve, will I-I e-ever see you again?"

Germany sighed once more, wiping his eyes with the back of his hand.

"I-I don't know."

With that, the blonde nation forced himself to keep walking forward. No more delays. He had to keep going.

"W-Wait! Please! Germany! I don't want you to go! PLEASE!"

Germany felt like he was being torn in two. The sound of Italy's sobbing, desperate voice twisted every single organ of his body, grated at his ears, and stabbed his skin. Fresh wounds of sorrow. Spilling like blood.

But he didn't turn around.

Then, he felt a soft hand on his. A jolt of electricity shot through him, and he paused. Slowly, he turned around.

Italy stood there, the tears spilling down his cheeks as the gentle breeze blew his hair across his face gently.

Germany was breathless. He didn't know what to do, or what to say anymore. He was frozen on the spot. And he was now forced to endure the torture of convincing Italy to go away.

"Italy…"

"Don't go, Germany."

"I…"

"Please. Don't do this to me again."

"I don't have a choice, Italy."

"Ve, I'm begging you. I think I'll…I think that I'll die if you leave me here."

Germany froze. Italy's devastated tone was too much. Just way too much.

He ripped his hand away from Italy's, and said, "I'm sorry. I really am, but I have to go. This is my farewell."

Italy looked shattered. Absolutely shattered.

"…Fine. B-But…I…I…well…."

Then before Germany could say anything else, Italy was kissing him.

So much was said in that kiss. The pain, the sorrow, the happiness, the joy, the friendship, the memories, the passion…

Germany immediately found his body responding. His hands found their way back to his silky hair again, as he deepened the kiss. Memories of last night flooded his brain. The touches, the tears, the passion…

And the blonde nation knew that he was crying again. His tears mixed with Italy's, as they both said their farewells, under the morning sun, the breeze billowing gently across their bodies.

Finally, they broke apart, but they kept their foreheads pressed together. Germany placed both of his hands on Italy's cheeks.

He spoke, his voice barely above a whisper…

"Ever since the 900's, I've alvays loved you."

Italy squeezed his eyes shut. "Ve, me too."

With that, Germany backed away gently, and turned on his heel, away from the crying Italian, away from the happiness he wanted, but couldn't have, away from it all.

And there he was, walking on forward. Toward war. Toward betrayal. Toward destruction. Toward more tears.

Just before he passed through the stone arch, Germany paused. He didn't know why, but he found himself turning around to face Italy.

"I-I…I promise that once this is all over, I'll come back to you," he said.

Italy stared back at him with wide eyes, but then a faint watery smile broke out on his lips.

"I believe you."

With that, Germany turned back around and passed under the archway.

He knew that this act of treachery he was about to perform would never be forgotten. This would hurt Italy, scar him, almost kill him. And Germany would never forgive himself for it.

Germany wouldn't se see the sun like this for a very long time, shining high in the sky, gentle, subtle.

But maybe…just maybe, one day, he'll see the sun again.


	11. Epilogue

July, 2012

"Hey West, are you going or not?" Prussia asked from the couch, not bothering to take his eyes off from the TV screen, his thumbs moving rapidly over the PS3 controller buttons.

"Aww, FUCK!" The albino burst out, having the sudden urge to hurl the controller straight at the damn screen. "Those fucking zombies are fucking with my awesomeness!"

Germany's eye twitched in irritation, his fingers tightening around the beer bottle. He didn't want to answer Prussia's question. He was still unsure if he wanted to actually go or not. The thought filled him with such violent conflicting emotions, that he had no choice but to bring out the alcohol. But it wasn't really helping. And neither was Prussia.

"Hey, earth to West! Are you going tonight or not?" Prussia asked again, shifting his position on the couch to look back at his brother. The albino laughed at the blonde's distressed appearance. "Kesesese, West, don't pop a vein."

"Ack! _Mein Gott_, Prussia! Vhy don't YOU just go by yourself?" Germany spat, before taking another swig of alcohol.

Prussia's smile became bitter. "Technically, I wouldn't be allowed, since I'm not a nation anymore. The only way I could go is if you accompanied me…which is total un-awesome bullshit."

Germany stared hard at his brother, feeling an unpleasant lurch in his stomach. What was this? Pity? He stared at his brother's glinting red eyes, and sighed. He remembered that day, that day that his older brother was stripped of his nationhood. Germany was surprised that his Prussia even survived it. That day was painful for everyone. The war was lost, the damage was great, the scars were deep. And Prussia was on the brink of death, fading away. The blonde nation had honestly thought that all was over, that his brother would cease to exist.

But he survived. Germany didn't question the reason, but he was thankful, nonetheless. He couldn't afford to lose anybody else he cared about.

However, even though Prussia had survived, it took years of healing for both of them to become the nations that they are today. And since 1945, Prussia hasn't seen any other nations, apart from Germany. So the blonde couldn't blame his brother for wanting to go to this "reunion" that was being held by Austria.

Yet, Germany had omens of his own. He wasn't sure if he could handle going to this. Not if there was a chance that he would see…

Germany squeezed his eyes shut. Sixty nine years.

It's been sixty nine years since he betrayed him.

Sixty nine years since he last saw him.

He would never forget it. The gunshots, the blood, the screams, the destruction, the debris…

He saw it all crumbling to the ground. His love's nation…tattered.

All because of Germany, himself.

And then he remembered seeing Italy for the last time. That look of despair and devastation, shock at the betrayal as the Italian fell to his knees, sobbing and bleeding. Germany remembered looking at him, wanting desperately to just break with him. But he couldn't. He had to keep his cold militant façade. He was at war. And he was doing his duty as a country.

Yes. Treachery. Cold torture. Disgusting betrayal. Broken love.

Germany could see it. He remembered how dead Italy looked when the blonde nation raised the gun and pointed it straight at Italy's head, the soldiers marching, scrambling, fighting around them as the Germany fought to demilitarize North Italy.

"_G-Germany…." _He had whimpered, his voice hoarse, broken.

Germany remembered squeezing his eyes shut, and before he could second guess himself, he pulled the trigger.

Being a nation, the shot didn't kill Italy, but it won Germany the control of North Italy. They had successfully gotten it for themselves, despite the fact that there was a growing resistance movement, and that the allies had Romano in their grip.

Then…he remembered. On October 13th of that year, Italy…his Feliciano, declared war on Germany.

And it was all hell from there.

Painful. Death. Scars. Blood.

It's been sixty nine years since he betrayed Italy, and sixty seven years since he lost the war.

Now, it's 2012, and Germany is better. His relationship with the other nations have mostly healed. Even his diplomatic relations with the country Italy have been restored.

But that doesn't mean anything. He might have good diplomatic relations with the nation itself, but he hasn't seen Feliciano since that day. In fact, he's the only one he hasn't seen since that day. And Germany, as much as it hurts, doesn't blame him. Who, in their right mind, would forgive him after all of that? After professing unconditional love and promises, and then ripping it away with bloody betrayal?

And now, Germany faced the prospect of seeing him again. For the first time in sixty nine years.

According to Austria, everyone had confirmed their expected attendance, everyone except for Germany. The blonde nation originally wasn't planning to go. In all honesty, he was scared. Scared to death of facing Italy.

But Prussia was persistent, and Germany felt guilty about denying his ex-nation of a brother the luxury of not seeing the others after so long.

Germany gritted his teeth and took another swig from the bottle. He knew he would probably regret this later.

"Fine. Ve'll go. I-I'll call Austria and let him know," Germany said with a sigh.

Prussia's lips curled up. "Kesesese. This oughta be fun. And West, if I were you, I'd stop drinking. I don't think the un-awesome aristocratic rich bastard would appreciate you showing up to his humble abode drunk of your ass."

Germany set the beer down and grinded his teeth together, his heart pumping in his chest and his stomach twirling around unpleasantly. He couldn't believe this…he was actually going. Actually going to see Italy…

Prussia must've seen the look on his younger brother's face, for his expression immediately softened as an understanding filled him. "Hey, West…"

Germany looked up. "Ja?"

"It's going to be fine. Italy was always one to forgive and forget, right?" the albino asked.

The blonde nation got to his feet with another sigh. He pinched the bridge of his nose lightly, closing his eyes and saying, "I'm going to call Austria."

Prussia sighed as he watched his brother go.

Even years later, the scars are still raw.

XX

Germany walked toward Austria's house shakily, his heart pounding against his chest and his breathing coming out in shallow pants. He had chosen to wear something somewhat formal for the occasion, as he was showing up to Austria's house after all. Prussia hadn't even bothered. His albino brother wore a T-shirt, some ripped trousers, and some dirty converse that Germany was sure he had thrown out a month ago.

Prussia had claimed that if he was going to see everyone again, he wanted them to understand that just because his nationhood had been stripped away from him doesn't mean that his "awesomeness" had been tainted.

It was around five, and the summer sky was starting to fade from a light blue to a lavender color. The air was warm and comforting, with just a slight breeze. Germany tried his best to keep his eyes on the front door. He didn't want to let his eyes travel around the property, in fear that it would trigger painful memories. He knew that the very gate had had walked through both times he had betrayed Italy was only a few feet away behind a grove of trees.

"Kesesese, I can't wait to see their faces when they see my awesomeness again!" Prussia exclaimed. Germany couldn't help but smile slightly at this. His brother was really excited. His stomach suddenly clenched at the thought of what it would've been like if Prussia hadn't pulled through, if he had successfully faded away.

Germany knocked on the door. He could already hear music and chatter from the interior of the house. He held his breath as his nervousness grew with each passing second. Only moments away from seeing Italy again…and he had no clue what was going to happen.

Would Italy attempt to talk to him? Ignore him? Yell at him? Make up with him?

Finally the door opened, and there stood Austria, looking as aristocratic and stuffy as ever with his stern "I'm better than you are" expression, and his prim posture.

"Ahh, Germany, I see you're here with…" Austria trailed off as his eyes trailed over Prussia.

Austria's eyes widen at the sight of the albino, who was smirking at him. The blonde nation could've sworn that he even saw a hint of…joy?

"Miss me, rich boy?" Prussia asked, cocking his head slightly to the left.

Austria stood there, just gaping at him. "I-I…"

"Roderich? Who is it?" came a female's voice from behind Austria. Just then, Hungary approached, her long brown hair trailing down her shoulders with the usual pink flower pinned to the side. She smiled at the sight of Germany.

"Oh, hi Germany!" she greeted cheerily, but then she spotted Prussia.

The albino nation rose his hand up in greeting. "Your precious Roderich has just been smacked up the ass with my un-ending awesomeness."

Hungary's eyes widened as well, and a strange plethora of emotions passed over her face, ranging from extremely pissed off, to overjoyed, to just confused…

"B-But I-I y-you…d-dead….a-and…" she stuttered.

Germany inwardly groaned. He sort of forgot to mention to the others that Prussia was still alive. Everyone thought that he had died shortly after his nationhood had been stripped from him. But it wasn't entirely Germany's fault!

Prussia had needed healing. He didn't want to see anybody for the longest time. He stayed cooped up in Germany's house, submissive and cold. Not until around two years ago did he start being his usual self again.

"Contrary to popular belief, I didn't die. I'm too awesome to die!" Prussia exclaimed.

Then, the strangest thing happened.

Hungary burst out into tears. She covered her face with her hands and sobbed. Prussia's eyes widened in shock.

"Whoah…whoah there, I didn't know you hated me that much…"

"No, you idiot!" Austria exclaimed, trying to fight tears of his own, but failing miserably. "She's crying because…because she…"

"Whoah, rich boy, you're crying too?" Prussia asked with a smile.

Germany felt slightly awkward standing here, watching his brother's reunion with his two closest friends-slash-enemies. He never understood his relationship with those two.

"Um…I-I'll just go inside then…" Germany said, walking past Austria and Hungary, who were both now crying as they looked at the mischievously beaming Prussia.

The house looked as it always had before, only with a few up-to-date electronics and appliances. Such as that huge ass plasma screen television in the living room. The living room was milling with various nations as they talked, drank, and ate. Germany saw that Spain was providing background guitar music.

"Dude, look! It's Germany!" America exclaimed, waving enthusiastically at him. Germany waved back a bit awkwardly, already feeling out of place. He was never one for social events. He scanned the room, looking for any sign of a smaller nation with a copper curl.

But there was no sign of him.

Italy wasn't here. Yet.

Germany wasn't sure whether to feel relieved or upset.

The blonde nation made his way across the room to the long table that had been laid out. It was covered with assorted food and dishes from every country. However, he did not see pasta. His stomach turned slightly and he grabbed a bottle of beer from the cooler before turning away and making his way to the opposite wall. He leaned against it awkwardly, drinking from the bottle.

He now saw that everyone was gaping at Prussia, who had officially entered the house, with both Austria and Hungary on either side of him. The two latter nations were slightly puffy eyed, but Germany was sure he had never seen Austria give that such a genuine in a long time.

A few moments passed as Prussia was bombarded with questions and hugs and greetings. The blonde nation smiled. Yes. Even if his brother is a _dummkopf, _Germany still liked to see him happy. He was actually glad to see that he was back to normal.

Then, there was another loud knock on the door. Austria excused himself to answer it.

Before Germany could make another move, they arrived.

Romano came in first, carrying a huge homemade pizza in his hands. He looked as moody as ever as he glared at everyone around the room. Germany gulped when he saw the older Italian. He hadn't see him since the nineteen forties either.

But it was nothing compared to what came next.

Trailing behind him was none other than the copper curled nation.

Italy Veneziano.

Feliciano Vargas.

Germany felt as if someone had taken his lungs, and stuffed them down his throat. He was breathless when he caught sight of the Italian.

Sixty nine years.

Sixty nine years of no contact. Absolutely none. Not even a glance.

And here he was. Only across the room.

And he was as beautiful as ever.

Germany almost smiled at the sight of Italy in modern day clothing. He was so used to seeing the nation in his military uniform.

Italy's brown hair was as tousled as ever, with that single flyaway curl. He had a bright jovial smile on his face, and his brown eyes shimmered brilliantly. In his hands, he carried a huge bowl of…pasta.

Germany started to shake again. He couldn't stop staring at him. He was breathtaking. He was perfect. After so many years of heartbreak and dreaming and regrets…

There he was.

Then, suddenly, Italy looked up, and his eyes met Germany's. The blonde nation felt a jolt of electricity travel down his spine at the eye contact, and he quickly looked away. No…he couldn't handle this right now.

Germany pushed himself off the wall shakily, swigged the rest of his beer, and started to rush toward the cooler again for another one. His movements were jerky and frantic. His heart was going to jump out of his throat. The air was hot…way to hot.

He grabbed another beer, opened it shakily, and started to chug it.

Then, he looked over his shoulder with slight hesitation to see that Italy was now talking with Spain, the two of them laughing as if nothing mattered. Spain had his arm wrapped around Romano's waist, who was glaring at the floor, his face as red as a tomato.

Germany quickly turned away and gave a shaky sigh. This was going to be a long night.

The blonde nation did his best to avoid even looking at Italy. He even attempted to talk to different nations, before going back to the cooler and grabbing beer after beer after beer.

Germany felt ashamed at his actions. This was ridiculous. He was being weak. He was being a coward.

He couldn't even look at Italy properly without having a panic attack.

"Germany-san…"

Germany nearly choked on his beer in panic. Japan merely stared at him with that calm expression of his as the blonde nation recovered, clearing his throat.

"Um-uh…hi Japan..."

"I couldn't herp but read the atmosphere and I am sensing great discomfort from you," he said calmly.

Germany gulped. "Um…"

"I'm arso sensing it from Itary-san as well," he continued.

Germany's breath hitched. Italy was uneasy? He sure as hell didn't seem like it. He seemed to be having the time of his life, laughing and socializing with other nations…

"Vell…that's…um…" Germany stumbled over his words, unsure of what to do or what to say.

"Ahhh….you know Itary-san is staring at you, right?" Japan stated, a slight smirk appearing on his serene face.

Germany started to sweat. He struggled to control his breathing as he turned his head to look in Italy's direction. Indeed, the Italian had been looking at Germany with wide brown eyes, but had quickly looked away once the blonde's eyes met his.

Germany's stomach fluttered as he quickly looked back at Japan. The damn Asian nation had a hint of a smirk present on his face. The blonde nation felt himself blush violently as he looked down at his feet, grinding his teeth.

"Forgive me for intruding, Germany-san, but I berieve that he wants to talk to you," Japan said. The blonde looked down at the Italian with wide, incredulous eyes. Why would Italy want to talk to him? After mercilessly betraying and inflicting so much damage on his citizens, and then not associating with the Italian for sixty nine years?

"N-Nein. He vouldn't v-vant to talk vith me," Germany stuttered out, feeling his heart twist slightly. It would be too good to be true...the thought that Italy would want to have anything to do with him at this point. That declaration of war shortly after the invasion was message enough.

Japan was silent for a moment, staring at the blonde nation with his deep dark eyes, as if he were contemplating upon something of deep importance. Germany started to feel a bit uncomfortable at the Asian's gaze.

Finally, Japan tore his gaze away and said in his usual subtle manner, "I disagree. I am certain that he desires to speak with you."

Then, Germany saw Japan's lips curl up in a smile as the Asian's eyes darted over Germany's shoulder.

"Excuse me, Germany-san, I have some business to attend to," he said, before walking past the blonde nation. Germany watched as the Japan walked up to a laid-back Greece, who smiled at the sight of the Asian.

Germany rolled his eyes. Of course Japan would abandon him to go to Greece.

With that thought aside, Germany turned around to steal another glance at Italy, but to his surprise, the nation was nowhere in sight. With a sharp intake of breath, his eyes flittered around the room. Everyone was still here, even Romano, who was talking to (more like yelling) at an ever-smiling Spain.

Germany started to feel uneasy. He took another look around, and scoffed in disgust as he saw France trying to grope Prussia (nothing new there). Other than that, there was really no sign of the Italian. The blonde nation gulped and took a swig from his beer. He considered asking Romano if he knew where his brother was, but he stopped himself, realizing that that was an absolutely awful idea.

If Italy was still angry at him, then Romano sure as hell wanted him dead.

Nobody seemed to pay Germany any mind as he slipped his way out of the living room and to the front door. He didn't even know what he was trying to do, or why he wanted to look for Italy, but he didn't bother to stop himself.

The sky was now completely dark, with little dots of stars appearing, twinkling merrily. The air was still warm, and the scent of fresh trees filled Germany's nostrils. He closed the door behind him, blocking the sound of the chatter and music that came from within the house.

Germany found himself walking down the steps. He knew where he wanted to go. He knew…that for some reason, Italy was there as well.

The old arched gateway.

It made so much sense.

Germany's heart started to quicken once again as he made his way past the grove of trees.

He kept moving his limbs forward, his mind swirling with various images of Italy…

His Feliciano.

The Italian who wasn't even his anymore.

And then, Germany saw it. The archway. Tall, stone, ancient looking. Smothered in old painful memories, both lucid and illusive. It looked strangely beautiful under the moonlight, with its strange shadows cascading over the ground.

But what really took Germany's breath away was the Italian with the copper curl, standing there, facing the gate, his silhouette illuminated by the bright white light.

The crickets chirped endlessly, blending into the general silence of the night. Germany held his breath, his limbs starting to tremble.

Something about Italy was all too familiar, yet different. And Germany can see that the nation had grown up. He had faced painful hardships, emotional instability, and destruction. Like Germany, the Italian was still trying to heal. And the healing process has taken its toll on all the nations.

Germany wasn't sure if he should walk forward, or back away. Wasn't sure if he wanted to confront his fears, or shy away.

However, he didn't have to make that decision.

"Ve, Germany, I know you're there."

Germany gasped. The Italian's voice sounded the same as it usually did. It made the blonde's heart ache. Nevertheless, the German walked forward carefully, allowing himself to stand side by side with the Italian, a considerable amount of space between them.

The two didn't say anything. They didn't move. Afraid that one single movement would shatter the momentary peace between them.

Germany stole a side glance at Italy. His large brown eyes were swirling amber, illuminated by the steady stream of moonlight, which bathed his face in a breathtaking light. He saw that the there was a sad expression on the Italian's face. But not a hysterical sadness, not the kind that leads to uncontrollable crying.

No. It was a calm, mature sadness. A sadness that reflected past grievances. Deep incurable scars.

Germany gritted his teeth and averted his eyes, his skin tingling and his heart pounding in his ears.

"It's been a long time, si?"

Italy's voice broke Germany out of his thoughts.

"Mmm," the blonde agreed with a curt nod of his head. The two continued to stare forward, taking in the archway that haunted both of their dreams.

They were here now.

Germany never thought that this day would come.

But it has.

He is alone with Italy again.

Germany glanced at Italy again, but this time, his eyes caught something.

A long thick red scar that travelled down the side of Italy's neck, and down past the collar of his shirt. Germany remembered.

He remembered that day, sixty nine years ago. He remembered the blood that seeped from Italy's neck. Germany knew that the scar extended all the way down his chest, to his abdomen.

It broke Germany's sense of calm. His heart wrenched, and his eyes stung. The blonde started to blink back tears as he clenched his fists.

How could Italy ever forgive him for this?

Anyone willing to forgive him, after he had confessed, and made love to Italy, left him at the gate, and then waged war on him a few days later, only to avoid confrontation with him for sixty-nine years…that would be a fucking miracle.

And too much for Germany to ask.

Way too much.

So Germany let the tears spill. He was a disgusting person. He was absolutely vile. Putrid. Absolutely unforgivable.

Italy's eyes widened at the sight of Germany's face.

"Ve, Germany…"

"I-Italy…I…" Germany choked out. What was he going to say? He couldn't just apologize. That would be absolutely meaningless, no matter how heartfelt it was. How could he ever justify himself? The pain ripped apart at him.

Germany had thought that after years and years of healing, he would have forgotten. He wouldn't feel that pain again.

But no. This pain was worse than anything he had felt in a long time. It was as if he were reliving it all again. Like he was reliving being killed by France as Holy Roman Empire, like he was reliving leaving Italy for the second time, like he was reliving pulling the trigger on his love…

Unforgivable.

"Germany."

Italy's voice was so soft, so tender, so gentle, so sincere…

Then, Germany felt Italy's hand slip into his.

And the blonde nation felt it again.

He was human.

They were human.

Ludwig and Feliciano.

And the time has come for the two to officially see the sun again.


End file.
